


Halo 5: Reclamation

by Slipspace_Anomaly



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Office Of Naval Intelligence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 238,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slipspace_Anomaly/pseuds/Slipspace_Anomaly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John-117 has always followed orders. Jameson Locke has always done what is necessary. But when an ancient alien menace threatens humanity and their leaders betray them, what will they do? Will they remain as they were? Or will they reclaim their lost humanity?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

_Now there's a bizarre sight,_ Captain Thomas Lasky thought to himself.

The soldier was over seven feet tall. He was clad in state-of-the-art MJOLNIR mark VI power armor. His body was enhanced by numerous augmentations provided by the Spartan II program making him stronger, faster, and smarter than a normal human was capable of becoming. He was the most experienced non-commissioned officer in the United Nations Space Command and had completed more operations, and killed more enemies, than any ten regular UNSC marines. His alien enemies called him "demon," and he had certainly earned that name as he regularly stole their victories from them and foiled their goal of human extinction. He was Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra 117, commonly known as the Master Chief, and he had saved the human race from annihilation more times than Lasky could count. He was a legend.

And he was currently standing in front of one of the space station's viewports, seemingly stargazing, and looking about as lost as a human possibly could.

Lasky had no idea what to do. How do you comfort a super-soldier? It's not like there was much precedent for his loss, either. Cortana, the artificial intelligence that had lived inside the Master Chief's armor and been among his closest companions, had recently died.

It was not as if it was unexpected. Smart AIs like Cortana only had a lifespan of about seven years before they went insane and ceased to function, a condition politely referred to as "rampancy." Still, every human alive had to die eventually, and it's not like knowing that fact made dealing with traditional "death" any easier.

Captain Lasky shook his head and decided to just improvise. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Of course not, sir," the non-com said, saluting the commissioned officer.

Lasky smiled.

"At ease, Chief," he said, "It feels kinda odd to hear you call me 'Sir'." He would never admit it to anyone, but Captain Lasky looked up to the Master Chief. He had ever since the Chief had saved his life over 20 years before when Lasky had been just a fresh-faced cadet. It was strange to think that now the Master Chief may actually need _his_ help.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Captain Lasky said, referring to the earth, visible on the left side of the viewport. "I don't get to see her often enough. I grew up on New Harmony, attended Corbulo Military Academy. I never saw Earth in person until I was an adult, but...I still think of her as home." Lasky paused, uncertain of what to say next. The Spartan gave him no leads, continuing to stare out the viewport.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Lasky asked awkwardly, trying to inject a bit of levity into the conversation and failing miserably. He decided to drop the pretense and just be honest.

"Chief, I won't pretend to know how you feel. I've lost people I care about but...never anything like what you're going through," he said.

The Master Chief responded in a quiet, even voice which nonetheless startled Lasky.

"Our duty as soldiers is to protect humanity. Whatever the cost."

The relatively young Captain had no idea how to respond to that. He supposed it might be a reasonable way to cope with loss, but it sounded so...empty. Inhuman. Like something a robot would say. Even worse, he got the distinct impression that the man next to him didn't really believe it either.

"You say that like soldiers and humanity are two different things. Soldier's aren't machines. We're just people." The Master Chief quickly turned his head to look at Lasky. It was the most significant movement that he had made since the well-meaning officer had approached him.

Even though Lasky couldn't see his face behind the polarized faceplate, he could tell that the Master Chief was troubled by what he said. He decided it might be best to leave the Spartan alone now, hoping that his words would help the other man work through his grief in a more healthy mindset.

"I'll let you have the deck to yourself," Captain Lasky said before walking off.

Several minutes went by in absolute silence, the wearied super-soldier seemingly staring out into space.

"She said that to me once," John-117 said in a quiet voice no one could hear, "about being a machine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I bought Halo 5, played through it, and...yeah. Call me thoroughly disappointed. Don't get me wrong, the game was fun to play but the writing... I think that the game missed so many fantastic storytelling opportunities in regard to the characters, the universe, and advancing the franchise as a whole. Not to mention that the entire add campaign was a lie. It emphasized an adversarial relationship between the Master Chief and Agent Locke, the nefarious nature of ONI, and the development of Blue Team rebelling against orders, all things that weren't present in the game. The adds suggested that Locke was out to kill the Chief to prevent him from doing something ONI didn't like and that's just not what happens. Locke only wants to capture the Chief and stop the Guardians and that's not what we were led to believe, not to mention it's significantly less interesting. And don't even get me started on what they did with Cortana. So, this is going to be my attempt to make things right. I'm going to be deviating pretty heavily from the canon story and trying to deliver what I feel the add campaign promised. Hopefully I'll be able to do the characters and the universe that I have loved for over ten years justice. Reviews and feedback are always appreciated provided they are constructive. I want to get this right and I appreciate any help you can offer.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The UNSC _Point of No Return_ was a contradiction wrapped in shadow. Technically it was a Prowler class vessel—a stealth ship in common parlance. However, it had one feature that was immediately obvious to anyone who got a good look at it: it was large. Massive, even, as far as stealth ships went. It was common knowledge that the larger a starship was the more difficult it was to conceal. As such, nearly all Prowlers in the United Nations Space Command, the UNSC, the military wing of the United Earth Government, or UEG, were rather small vessels, comparative in size to a corvette. This limited the size of the weaponry and overall punch that Prowlers could bring to bear and thus they were nearly always used for scouting and monitoring purposes. The _Point of No Return,_ by contrast, was the size of a destroyer and it had the firepower to match. It was a sledgehammer acting as an assassin's blade.

It was also the headquarters of the UNSC's intelligence branch, the Office of Naval Intelligence, or ONI.

Not that Major Caroline Ackerson had time to dwell on such poetics. Not when she was delivering what could be either very good or very bad news to some of the most powerful, and most ruthless, people in all of the UNSC.

She walked up to the briefing room in the depths of the _Point of No Return_ and waited with impatience for the mandatory security screening to be completed. Even in the heart of their sanctuary the leaders of ONI insisted on maximum security. Thankfully the guard did not insist on a pat down. She doubted she would have been able to restrain herself from inflicting physical harm upon him had he attempted something so invasive and humiliating, his assault rifle be damned.

At last the scans were completed and Ackerson was allowed to enter. She was greeted not by a conference table in the center of a normal briefing room, but rather by a poorly lit chamber with a small space for her to stand in front of what were clearly several occupied desks. She walked to the vacant space and blinked as a light suddenly illuminated her from above. Strangely, the light gave no aid in her attempt to discern the identities of who she was addressing.

"Major Ackerson. Report."

Only one individual spoke, using a steady, calm, and almost inaudible voice. Despite this it carried a palpable sense of power and threat. Combined with the fact that the voice was clearly female it gave the young major a horrible feeling that she knew exactly who she was talking to.

Caroline Ackerson resisted the urge to swallow the lump in her throat and proceeded to present her report.

"Another colony has been hit, name of 'Hadley's Hope.' Same MO as before: Seismic disruption, beginning small but growing to about 8 on the Richter Scale, followed by a near-planet wide EMP pulse, and finally a destructive event leaving a kilometer wide crater in the ground. Any electronics not encased in a Faraday Cage or the new shielding tech was instantly fried by the EMP."

"Hadley's Hope had a UNSC military outpost, correct? Did any monitoring gear survive?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ackerson responded, her unease overwhelming her tendency to be annoyed at being interrupted. "In fact, they gave us the most substantial evidence we have so far gathered about what exactly is happening. It seems like a Scenario Beta-3-11."

A Beta-3-11 was among the most serious threats that the UNSC had a category for. It referred to a cataclysmic threat resulting from the discovery or activation of Forerunner technology. The Forerunner's were among the most significant alien races in galactic history. Nearly all advanced sapient civilizations, humanity being an exception, had reverse-engineered their technology from the equipment left behind by that long dead civilization. Humanity had had several major encounters with Forerunner tech, specifically Forerunner super-weapons, in the past decade. Each instance had resulted in the death of at least thousands, the most recent one claiming over 60 million civilian lives in the destruction of New Phoenix.

"You mean it wasn't the Covenant?"

"It was not, ma'am," the Major replied. The Covenant was a hierarchical caste-based theocracy of non-human sapients who, 33 years before, had declared total war on the human race. It was the first contact humanity had ever had with aliens and the resulting Human-Covenant War had lasted for nearly 30 years. The Covenant had massacred tens of billions of human beings, reducing entire colony worlds to molten glass in its crusade to rid the galaxy of a species their prophets had dubbed an affront to their gods. The war had finally ended only five years ago with the Treaty of 2553, which marked the dissolution of the Covenant following its civil war, known amongst the now-former Covenant races as "The Great Schism." The Covenant that the Voice now referred to was a new organization that sought to restore the glory of the old order and had dubbed itself the "Storm Covenant," although in the Major's opinion they had quite a long way to achieving its lofty and genocidal goals. Frankly, she was rather surprised that ONI Command even thought that they were capable of attacks like this.

"Do we have video?"

"Yes, ma'am. It should be on the data cube I handed to the guard on the way in." The Major waited as the Voice watched the video that the guard had transmitted once an ONI Artificial Intelligence had scanned it for malicious software. At least, she presumed the other individuals in the room were watching it, since they didn't deign to inform her and simply allowed the silence to stretch on.

A shiver threatened to crawl up Caroline's spine as she recalled what the marine outpost's cameras had recorded. She stamped it down, making sure to give no external sign of her discomfort.

"Continue," the Voice said without preamble.

Major Ackerson complied. "It seems that the reports from civilian survivors were indeed accurate. We are unclear what, exactly, these devices are, but their design is unmistakably Forerunner. Combine that with its apparent immunity to the UNSC base's more advanced scanning equipment, and all doubt vanishes."

"So we have nothing else?" the Voice demanded.

"Actually, no," the Major responded, hesitantly. She was unsure how the next part of her report would go over. "We unexpectedly gained a new source on these...things. A small amount of data on them was transmitted to us from within the Storm Covenant. Our techs believe that the message's signed author is genuine: Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey-"

"WHAT?!"

Major Ackerson actually jumped slightly at the outburst and sudden emotion from the Voice. Almost too thrown to continue, she elaborated, "Y-yes, ma'am. As you know, she has been in Covenant custody since her capture 6 months ago and she appears to have gained knowledge of whatever is causing these events. She refers to them as 'Guardians,' and she claims to-"

"I am uninterested in what that _traitor_ claims! Did we gain any additional intelligence about Halsey in this message?"

"Yes, actually," the Major replied, "she transmitted the location she can be found one week from today. It's a human colony, Conrad's Point. She claims to want to come in and assist in dealing with this threat. Given her pedigree, and our lack of other sources on these 'Guardians,' I think-"

"Perhaps you did not hear me, Major. Nothing, I repeat, _nothing,_ that woman has to say interests me."

"But ma'am," Major Ackerson replied, her heart pounding at her own audacity in contradicting whoever she was speaking to. If she displeased the ranking officers of ONI, she would be lucky to get a broken career. If she was unlucky, she would experience an unfortunate "accident" or reassignment to a hostile region of space. If she was very unlucky, she would be sent to a "Midnight Facility," a deep, dark hole where ONI threw all the undesirable elements of society that it didn't want to simply dispose of. Just the thought of winding up in one of those iso gulags...

Still, she pressed on. If this lead panned out and she got credit for solving this crisis, her ascent through the ranks of ONI would be assured. She longed to surpass the legacy of her late and unlamented father.

"Given the potential intelligence and analysis Dr. Halsey could provide, and the fact that our psychological analysts believe she is genuine in her desire to return to her own species, surely it would benefit us to-"

"The only _benefit_ this message has given us is in providing a target location. Dr. Halsey is a _rogue asset,_ Major. She has proven multiple times over the past decade that she is unwilling to follow orders or ONI policy. Given her intellect and her decades of experience on the inside of this organization, she herself is an Alpha level threat. She is to be eliminated. _Immediately._ "

Major Ackerson sighed internally and let her opportunity slip through her fingers. "Yes, ma'am. Understood, ma'am. I'll put our best agent on it."

"See that you do." The Voice paused at this, perhaps to collect itself. "Don't worry about these so-called 'Guardians,' Major. The Covenant themselves couldn't stand against the might of this organization. We will meet this threat and conquer it ourselves. And we will do it as we have always done."

"From the shadows."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Evasive maneuvers!" the pilot of the Pelican dropship shouted, immediately before a ball of superheated plasma reduced him, his aircraft, and the twenty marines inside it to a fireball in the sky above the colony world Conrad's Point. The Master Chief immediately banked his own Pelican, nimbly avoiding the incoming anti-aircraft fire with the benefit of his augmented reflexes.

The destruction of Pelican Echo-420 meant that his group of four Spartans would be the only UNSC soldiers to reach the surface alive. Inconvenient, but the Spartan had faced worse odds. He suppressed a pang of loss as he suddenly remembered that Cortana would not be there to help him. She would not be hacking into enemy communications or finding alternative means to accomplish his mission. She would never again provide him invaluable intelligence while annoyingly trying to amuse him with witty banter. The Master Chief focused on his piloting.

"Blue Lead to squad. Approaching LZ. ETA 90 seconds," he commed the rest of his team. Three acknowledgments answered him from the crew compartment. His team was ready, as he knew it would be.

The Master Chief tilted his dropship until it was almost perpendicular to the ground and accelerated past Mach 3. He focused his mind until time seemed to slow around him; his ability to perceive and react to the world around him increased to be exponentially higher than that of any unaugmented human. He and his siblings had given it the nickname "Spartan time," and it allowed them to move with a speed and precision unrivaled in all of the galaxy. He put it to good use, dodging incoming fire and waiting until the last possible fraction of a second before pulling up on the flight stick, leveling out, and flying his dropship into a series of canyons. Hopefully his speed and the unearthly vast network of rents in the planet's crust would delay any effort to locate them. He eventually slowed to the point where he could land without leaving a massive impact crater. He landed the Pelican at the designated LZ, well within enemy lines, and shut the aircraft down.

"Blue Team, we have made landfall," he commed.

"Hey, you managed not to crash this time, sir! And the whiplash from that maneuver of yours only knocked a few of my teeth out. You're improving, Blue Lead!" Blue One quipped.

The Master Chief frowned. While Blue Team was more of a family than a traditional squad or fireteam, Fred was coming dangerously close to insubordination. Then again, Fred technically outranked him, being a Commander while John was still a Master Chief Petty Officer. In fact, Fred had commanded Blue Team while the Chief had been stuck stranded on the derelict _Forward Unto Dawn_. The higher ranking Spartan simply deferred to him because John had been the leader of the Spartans from the beginning. He supposed that Blue Team was rather unconventional in many ways, so decided to let his sibling's new fondness for jests slide.

Normally he would not be flying his own ship, but recently he had taken to honing his diverse skills and doing more tasks himself. He couldn't quite explain why but ever since returning to active service he had felt increasingly constrained, and decided that the best way to deal with it was to focus on the more neglected of his skillsets. Of course, his squadmates used the opportunity to needle their stoic leader as only his siblings would dare.

He opened the cockpit door and examined his team.

Blue One, Fred. His second in command. He was armed with a Designated Marksman Rifle and a custom made energy blade based on the energy swords of the Sangheili warrior species. It could cut through an inch thick plate of titanium-A and could be adjusted to any length between 18 and 100 cm with a simple adjustment on the hilt. It was a rather expensive piece of gear, but given Fred's skill with melee combat the Master Chief knew that it was worth more than a full set of MJOLNIR armor in terms of sheer effectiveness.

Fred had been surprisingly willing to cede command back to the Chief following his return to active service. The Chief supposed that Fred was just glad another of his brothers had survived the war and wanted to hang on to the way things used to be. With Blue Team being composed of the only four survivors of the Spartan II program, it was a feeling they all certainly shared.

Blue Two, Linda. His sniper. She was, as always, armed with her custom SR-99 Anti-Materiel, nicknamed "Nornfang." Technically the weapon was outdated compared to the newer SR-99 Series 5, but Linda had made a number of modifications to her rifle that made it far more advanced than the standard model. That combined with her decades of experience with it made it the most effective sniper rifle he could have possibly equipped her with. Her helmet was covered in additional optical gear, ensuring that even without the rifle she would be endowed with a level of accuracy and precision never before known amongst mortal kind.

Linda nodded at him so deeply it was practically a bow. The Master Chief had noticed that Linda's respect for and loyalty to him had increased greatly over lately. Like Fred, Linda had once commanded her own team, but unlike him all of the members of her team had died in the last days of the Human-Covenant War. The Chief had also personally saved her life after she had been mortally wounded in the Battle of Reach. Kelly had suggested that he had become a source of stability and acceptance for her since his return and was beginning to worry that her devotion to him might be straying into the realm of fanaticism.

Finally there was Blue Three, Kelly. She was the fastest Spartan ever produced and had always been the best scout of all of them. She could easily keep pace with a Warthog LRV, and was almost supernaturally good at avoiding detection, even for a special operations group like Blue Team. She carried a shotgun and had a fondness for closing the distance between herself and her targets in the blink of an eye; effective range was not an issue for her.

Kelly also nodded at him, but her body language betrayed more concern than his other siblings. Spartans were typically people of few words and Kelly was likewise rather quiet by most people's standards. For a Spartan, however, she was rather sociable and was the one he relied upon for the more human and emotional support the team sometimes needed. Unfortunately it had recently been causing him trouble, as she insisted he was pushing himself too hard with his recent string of back-to-back missions. She seemed to think he was attempting to lose himself in his work. The Chief had been meaning to talk to her about it, but was having difficulty figuring out what to say. He mentally shook himself—it would not do to shake his head and signal that something was wrong—and refocused on the mission.

He quickly grabbed his trusty MA5C Asssault Rifle and Jackhammer rocket launcher and gave the order.

"Move out, Blue Team."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They made their way through the alien forest of Conrad's Point. Tree branches shaped like reptilian tails, covered in fine cilia, brushed against their armor as they moved. Despite this, and their half-ton weight, the Spartans were silent as a whisper in a storm as they jogged over the forested plateau towards their objective. They could hear the sounds of battle coming from several kilometers away. Just by looking up they could see the flashes in the sky as the human and alien fleets battled in the space surrounding the UEG colony world.

Their mission was simple. The leader of the Storm Covenant, a renegade faction of Sangheili looking to restore the religious order that had been bent on the extermination of the human species, had brought a sizable force to Conrad's Point. His name was Jul 'Mdama, and he was their objective. They would kill the so-called prophet and military leader and thus cut the head off of the proverbial snake.

The Sangheili's mission on Conrad's Point was not yet known. Strangely they had been ordered not to pursue any potential leads or secondary objectives and instead focus solely on the elimination of 'Mdama. It didn't sit well with the Master Chief and he suspected that ONI, the very organization that had created the Spartan II program, was hiding something from them.

The Master Chief frowned again beneath his helmet. Any one scrap of intel could mean the difference between life and death. It was something that had been drilled into him during his training. He didn't like the fact that Command was getting on his nerves more often than not in recent days.

"Hostile patrol ahead," Kelly warned over the comms. The other Spartans immediately crouched behind cover and eyed the motion trackers displayed on the interior of their helmets.

The Master Chief snaked a fiber optic probe around his cover and spotted a small Covenant patrol approaching. It was composed of a single Sangheili leading a group of six Unggoy. The nearly three meter tall saurian warrior towered over its meter tall subordinates, one of whom it shoved forward with contempt. The Sangheili were a proud, militant society and many of its members had little to no respect for the often cowardly Unggoy. In fact the only reason they even employed them was because the old Covenant had enslaved the diminutive species and used them as cannon fodder in their endless wars of conquest and forced conversion.

Blue Team waited until the patrol had passed by to slip further along the way toward their objective. They soon approached what intelligence pegged as the probable location of 'Mdama: a mine.

The complex itself was fairly simple on the surface. There was an administrative building, several garages for the equipment, large industrial and transport vehicles, and storage areas for the ore transported from the depths of the mine itself. However, the Chief noticed several other buildings that didn't seem to fit. They were nondescript, square structures, obviously prefabricated; the kind of building you could see on colonies across the breadth of human space. However, they were new, and obviously not of the same make as the others. Most importantly, they were swarming with Storm.

The Storm Covenant had stuck to SOP, setting up numerous fortifications. The complex was surrounded by portable guard "towers," small platforms 3 meter across held aloft ten meters in the air by an anti-gravity lift. Each contained a Kig-Yar sharpshooter. The hunched, one and a half meter tall avian sapients were notorious for their excellent eyesight and crack marksmanship. Of course, they could only hit what they could see. All entrances were blocked off by barricades made of portable energy shields tall enough to cover a standing Sangheili. Beyond it all was the entrance to the mine, which was guarded by its own guard towers and energy shield barricades.

The majority of the security seemed focused not on the mine itself, but on one of the mystery buildings on the surface. It had all of the security measures the mine entrance had in addition to two full squads of black armored Sangheili spec ops and a pair of Wraith tanks. The Master Chief shook his head. 'Mdama was either very paranoid about his own survival, or there was something very important in that building that he was after. If 'Mdama was anywhere, he would be there.

Lastly, Chief noted the large, open area serving as an airfield where three Phantom dropships were resting. At all costs 'Mdama could not be allowed to reach them and escape.

The Master Chief quickly formulated a plan of attack. "Blue Two, take one of those towers and eliminate the remaining sharpshooters on my signal. Don't be spotted. Blue Three, take my Jackhammer," he said, handing Kelly his rocket launcher, "go to the ridge to the west and disable those Wraiths as soon as I give Linda the go ahead. Blue One, you and I will infiltrate the airfield and disable the transports. After they're out of the picture Blue One, Three, and I will close on the Command Center under cover of Two's sniper fire. We breach it, eliminate all targets, locate 'Mdama and take him down. Clear?"

"Copy," they responded as one.

He was about to order the others to execute his plan when another Phantom dropship flew into view, flanked by no less than four Banshee gunships. The Master Chief paused, waiting to see what it was delivering. Perhaps 'Mdama was only just arriving.

After nearly three decades of war across light-years of space, fought against a military juggernaut composed of the first sapient alien life humanity had ever encountered, there was very little that could still shock the Master Chief. The person that exited that dropship made his jaw drop almost to the bottom of his helmet.

Dr. Catherine Halsey.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"John?"

John-117 did not need to turn around or even recognize the voice to know who was talking to him. It could only be Dr. Halsey. She was the only one beside his fellow Spartan cadets to use his name. Chief Petty Officer Mendez and the other instructors referred to him as "cadet" or simply "117."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, immediately turning around and standing at attention.

"Please John, there is no need for military honorifics with me. You can call me 'Catherine,' or, if you insist on protocol, 'Dr. Halsey,' or even just 'Doctor,'" she replied with a smile.

"Yes, Dr. Halsey," John said, frowning internally. The good doctor's casual nature of talking with him and his fellow cadets had always been rather uncomfortable. After all, he was only ten, and even before he was conscripted at age six it would have been unthinkable to address an adult by her first name. Now that he was training to be a soldier such a thing was thoroughly taboo for him.

Dr. Halsey sighed, apparently amused at his discomfort.

"Please come with me," she said, and without another word started walking away. John followed her through the ONI training complex until they came to her office. After he had entered she closed the door and moved behind her desk, tapping on some device he couldn't see. "Please have a seat," she said, not looking up from her task. He sat down and Dr. Halsey, after finishing whatever she was working on, sat not behind her desk as he expected, but in a chair she placed right in front of his. "I wanted to talk to you about the recent assignment you and the other cadets completed. The one in your advanced military strategy class," she said.

"Yes ma—er, Dr. Halsey. Was my response inadequate?" 117 asked. He was unhappy with the thought of performing inadequately. He didn't want to disappoint her. He also didn't like to lose.

"Not at all," she replied, "at least, not by the standards of most UNSC officers. However, I think that you displayed a limited perspective."

To say that this threw John off balance would be a massive understatement. The answer he gave was sufficient for the officers of the United Nations Space Command, but was still somehow inadequate? How could that possibly be? If it had been anyone else who had said such a thing John would have dismissed it and immediately lost a good deal of respect for the person in question. But this was Dr. Halsey. While his interactions with her were rather limited, it was clear to anyone that she was a brilliant mind. It was also she who came up with the idea of the Spartan program and her mastery over multiple fields of science was clear from the times she gave educational lectures in place of their normal AI instructor, Deja. Every time they met John felt that he had been made far wiser for her instruction.

"I don't understand, Dr. Halsey. How was it inadequate?" he tentatively asked.

"If you recall, the question concerned dealing with an Outer Colony about to be attacked by a strong Insurrectionist force in the event of a civil war. Do you remember how you responded?" she asked, although John couldn't help but feel like it was more a demand than a question. His discomfort increased significantly.

"Of course, ma-Doctor. I recommended pulling all UNSC forces off of the world and using them to fortify neighboring systems. With the amount of resources provided in the assignment prompt, I determined that it was unfeasible to defend the world without taking unacceptable losses," he said. "Doctor," he added swiftly, feeling that in the absence of the usual "ma'am" he needed to apply some honorific just then.

"A perfectly logical answer. Text book, some would say," Dr. Halsey said before pulling out her data pad. "I want you to look at these pictures, and imagine they are of the world in the assignment."

John looked at the data pad, studying the various images as they passed by. They were all highly sentimental in nature. Families, schools, workers of various professions, sporting events, etc.

"I do not deny that sometimes the logic you employed is the type that must be followed for the greater good. In fact, I fear that it is logic you yourself will have to follow far more often than I would like," at this the Doctor paused and an expression John couldn't quite identify, but looked distinctly negative, passed over her face before immediately vanishing. "However, I want you to remember these images. Remember that it is for people like this, worlds like this, that you fight. Spartans are to be the protectors of humankind and while the cold calculus you employed may sometimes be needed you must remember, if a decision falls to you, that it must always be considered a last resort. People are more than numbers... _You_ are more than a number. Do you understand, John?"

John-117 frowned for a moment. "I _think_ I do, Doctor."

She examined him for a moment and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Think on it some more," she said before getting up and finally moving behind her desk. "Now, let's go over your military history scores." John brightened considerably at that, knowing that he had scored highly on all of the recent exams.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

John looked on in disbelief as the Sangheili escorted Dr. Halsey toward the command center. He had known that the Storm Covenant had captured her some time ago. In fact he had volunteered to lead a rescue op several times only to be rejected. Command said they just didn't have a firm enough location on her and Blue Team was needed elsewhere. It was a point that continued to bother the Master Chief. This woman had been a significant figure in his development. Other than CPO Mendez himself there had not been a single person who had had as much of an impact on him as Dr. Catherine Halsey. Every time they spoke she had helped him advance in his development in countless ways; she had always challenged him and he had reveled in surmounting whatever trials she had presented him. More than that, though, she was a woman who had shown considerable concern for him over the years. She was the closest thing to a mother he had had since his conscription.

Supposedly, Dr. Halsey was now working for the Storm Covenant rather than being a simple prisoner. The Master Chief didn't believe that nonsense for a second. Halsey was no traitor. Most likely she was playing along, maybe even feeding them false intelligence. Regardless, her presence here was most unexpected.

He was sorely tempted to abandon his primary objective and stage a rescue operation on the spot. However, his orders were clear: eliminate Jul 'Mdama at any cost. The Master Chief felt an unexpected spike of rage as he suddenly understood why Command had been so secretive. They knew. They _knew_ she would be here. Maybe they didn't expect her to be moved to this exact location, but they must have known she would be on this planet. Why else would they have been so insistent on keeping him in the dark? It wasn't like it was back in the Human-Covenant War, when the Covenant's activities were still shrouded in mystery. They had long ago figured out how to access alien communications networks and the information they had accumulated on the extraterrestrial races of the galaxy was immense and growing every day. They must have known...

The Master Chief forced himself to stay calm. Command must have had its reasons. Surely they had another team in the field tasked with rescuing Dr. Halsey. He stamped down the urge to try to contact Command and request clearance to liaise with the rescue team. The Storm would certainly detect any attempted transmission he had made.

"Orders, sir?" Blue One asked. The Chief knew that the same thoughts had to be going through the rest of Blue Team.

Taking a deep breath, the Master Chief responded, "We stick to the plan. Priority is the elimination of Jul 'Mdama."

"Sir, we can't just-" Blue Three began to object, before John interrupted her.

"But Dr. Halsey is an Alpha level asset. Recovery of the Doctor is now a secondary mission objective." This was stretching his battlefield autonomy to the limit. Command had made it clear that there _were_ to be no secondary mission objectives. But he couldn't just leave her, or let her die through his actions. He couldn't. He _wouldn't._

He also couldn't afford to wait and hope the rescue team showed up and contacted him. They could be on the other side of the planet for all he knew and both targets could have left the premises by the time they arrived. It was up to Blue Team. And Blue Team never failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, let me know what you think. This is my first multi-chapter fic and I'd appreciate any feedback.
> 
> Note: Yes, I'm deviating a bit from the canon characterization of Blue Team. I haven't read all the recent stuff but I'm pretty sure Fred has never been a joker. Don't worry, I'm not turning him into comic relief. It's just that the Spartan IIs have been at war for decades now and they lost most of their siblings just a few years past. I'm trying to find ways for their characterizations to demonstrate that and I figured having one of them turn to humor would be a good start. Plus, it's not like Spartans were ever entirely stick-in-the-muds. Even John liked a good quip every now and then, right?
> 
> Note: Kelly's shotgun. Yes, I know that IRL shotguns do not have an effective range of about 12 feet and I'll try to keep their limits in this fic reasonable. I just figured that the weapon loadout of each Spartan should reflect their individual skillsets or personalities, hence Fred's energy blade. Also the possibility of lightsaber duels. Fred vs. Warden Eternal, anyone?


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Waiting. That was all Jul 'Mdama seemed to do these days. Wait. The leader of the Storm Covenant, the revitalizer of the faith in the Great Journey, the Hand of the Didact himself, was spending his time waiting for a _vermin_ to give him aid.

"What is the problem?" 'Mdama asked impatiently.

"There are several," the female vermin responded with the air of one who knows she is, for the moment, invaluable. "Would you like to discuss the finer points of casual reconciliation?"

'Mdama growled angrily. "More human sarcasm."

"So you have learned something from me, Jul," she replied impertinently.

This was becoming too much for the proud leader to bear. "You claimed to be able to access-"

"And I can," the human had the audacity to interrupt, "However, I did not claim to be able to access it instantaneously."

'Mdama paced the floor. "The security situation is not stable. There is no time to dither," he warned her. He was already uncomfortable bringing the clever vermin down to the planet. Normally he kept it secure in one of his capital ships, bringing whatever technology or data it needed to it. What lay beneath the crust of this planet, however, could not be moved so easily.

"You will also accord me the respect befitting of the Didact's Hand," he added. This human may be valuable, but her insolence strained even his patience.

"Seems your fingers are in active rebellion, 'Hand'," she scoffed.

"ENOUGH!" 'Mdama shouted. "Resume your work!" He swiftly walked away from the insufferable wretch. This was intolerable. Unacceptable. He was the leader of the Covenant, a prophet of the holy Forerunners themselves! He should not be accepting such behavior from a vermin, a member of a race that had desecrated countless holy sites and earned itself only extermination. Yet, he needed any advantage he could get. Not over any mortal power, of course; those he could conquer on his own. No, 'Mdama's current bane was purely spiritual.

The Sangheili warrior's shoulders slumped slightly. It had all been going so well. After killing that traitor of a Kaidon who had preceded him as leader of the Storm Covenant, Jul had transformed his nation into a force to rival any military in the galaxy. Unlike his predecessors, he recognized the necessity of developing new tactics and strategies to counter the radically different galaxy that their people found themselves in. Guerilla tactics, unconventional maneuvers, even using the humans' filthy weapons against them had all become commonplace. Soon, their power grew to the point where they were able to move openly against the false-Arbiter and his heretical followers.

And then it happened. Requiem, legendary home of the Forerunner general "Didact," had opened to them. Even greater, the mighty Didact himself had appeared and named 'Mdama his hand! Following the Didact, the physical manifestation of a god, Covenant forces had assault Earth, the wretched heart of the human empire. Using a holy weapon that 'Mdama's forces had helped recover, they had annihilated an entire human city, reducing tens of millions of the vermin to ash while leaving all of their technology intact! The salvage from that planet would have financed the Covenant for a millennium and the destruction of their homeworld would have shattered the human empire and made them easy pickings for the Didact's holy armies.

And then it all went wrong. The Didact had not been defeated. No, that was preposterous—a god cannot lose to mortals, even if those mortals have demons working for them. Yet, Jul had seen the flash that had burst forth from the top of the Didact's vessel, had seen the entire ship disappear into slipspace without explanation, had been forced to order retreat when the human ships rallied to push them out of their system. Even Requiem itself had been lost when, without warning, the artificial planet's internal micro-star had gone nova and annihilated the entire construct!

They had become unworthy. That was the only possible explanation. They had somehow failed the Forerunners, and the Didact had left them in response. But why? What could they have possibly done to make their god abandon them right at the moment of final victory? This was a question that haunted Jul 'Mdama. It had occupied his every thought since. He spent most of his time in prayer, and the rest desperately seeking a way to hear from the Forerunners; seeking a way to learn how he had fallen short.

Unfortunately, while he was searching, the Covenant's crusade ground to a halt. Without instructions, his generals were unsure how to prosecute the war against the false-Arbiter, Thel 'Vadam, and his heretical Sangheili warriors. 'Vadam had then begun making strides to regain lost territory and united more Sangheili clans under his banner. Even worse, many began to question 'Mdama's right to lead following the disappearance of the Didact. Not openly, of course. None would yet dare to question his leadership directly for fear of invoking his wrath. But that would change.

Already one Sangheili leader had broken from the Covenant and struck out on his own, attacking a place the humans called "Draetheus V" in order to recover Forerunner relics located on the planet's moon. Ironically, the general's death and the near-total annihilation of his fleet had been a benefit to 'Mdama. Many were discouraged from following the renegade's example upon seeing the results of that catastrophic battle.

But it would not last. 'Mdama needed to regain the initiative in this war quickly if the Storm Covenant was to survive, and to do that he first needed to regain the favor of the Forerunners.

It irked him to no end that he was relying on a human, a human of the hated _ONI,_ to unlock the secret to the gods' displeasure. 'Mdama remembered well his time in human captivity, the experiments that their scientists had run on him to determine the best ways to slaughter his people. He would never, could never, forget that; the hatred born of those indignities fueled him in his righteous cause.

'Mdama remembered with pleasure the smell of this white-maned human's flesh burning when he had cauterized the stump of its arm with his energy sword. Oh yes, he would smell it again. Once this vermin had served its purpose he would take great delight in making its death as long and agonizing as possible. He would repay it, and its masters, a thousandfold for what they had done to him, to his people, to his faith.

He was still indulging his deliciously violent fantasies when one of his Phantoms exploded. 'Mdama rushed to the window looking out over the complex, pushing past the vermin, and arrived just in time to see his other two Phantoms go up in flames as well. His eyes were immediately drawn to one of his guard towers by a series of bright, yellow flashes. As he focused on the indigo platform he saw what was unmistakably a human soldier in damnably familiar armor. The demons were here.

The demon in the guard tower moved as if it were a blur. Its weapon spat fire so fast its barrel seemed to breathe flames. When it changed the boxes on its underside that contained its ammunition he could barely follow its movements. 'Mdama glanced at the other towers and realized that all of his sharpshooters had been eliminated. Impossible! He had nearly twenty guard towers and the human vermin had eliminated all of them in the span of ten breaths?

He glanced down and saw one of his Wraith tanks orient to fire on the captured guard tower. Its plasma mortar would reduce the emplacement and the wretched demon to molten slag. At least, it would have, had it not promptly exploded into a bright blue fireball which shook the building to its foundations. Its twin immediately suffered a similar fate, and Jul quickly identified the telltale vapor trail of a human rocket launcher. Damn them!

As if hearing his thoughts, the demon in the tower turned, aimed its weapon directly at 'Mdama...and hesitated. The fraction of a second was all he needed to stab the window's controls with one of his two opposable digits. The window obediently polarized, blocking him from the enemy's vision. Why had it hesitated?

Of course. The white-maned vermin! 'Mdama turned around and grabbed the vermin in question by its remaining arm. Suddenly he heard an explosion from the building's first floor, followed by human and Covenant weapons fire. He ignored the vermin's screeches of protest and hurried to the roof.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_This is taking too long,_ the Master Chief thought to himself as he lobbed a fragmentation grenade behind a cargo container a pack of unggoy had taken cover behind. The leathery, pint-sized grunts only had a second to shriek before the grenade exploded and blew their shredded corpses out from behind cover.

Fred and the Chief moved quickly through the complex, dodging enemy fire and gunning down any Storm forces that got in their way. Thankfully, Linda softened up the elite Sangheili squad guarding the door. The two of them had little difficulty dispatching the remaining few hiding behind cover. They reached the doors to the enemy command center a few seconds after Kelly did.

"Advise, Blue Lead, I had eyes on both primary and secondary targets on the second floor, north side of the command center. Primary target has polarized the window and I no longer have visual. Spotting additional forces emerging from the mine proper, over," Linda informed the Master Chief.

"Copy, Blue Two. Maintain current position and keep the reinforcements pinned. Blue Lead, out," he responded.

The Master Chief looked at Fred and Kelly and opened a private comm channel to them.

"Execute breach," he instructed.

His team immediately went about executing the plan he had devised before initiating contact with the enemy. Fred placed a breaching charge on the door, just powerful enough to open it without risking injuring Dr. Halsey if she happened to have been moved since Linda spotted her. Immediately upon the charge's detonation the Master Chief tossed a flashbang inside to disorient the enemy. Kelly then rushed in and moved to the most advantageous position inside the room at top speed. Fred and John then followed, exercising precision fire and minimal force in order to minimize potential damage to their secondary objective.

By the time John entered Kelly was already on the other side of the room, firing from behind the cover of a solid, steel crate. Her position forced the enemy to divide their fire between two directions, providing a much needed advantage.

Kelly's shotgun tore ragged holes through the defenders, blowing apart unggoy and dropping sangheili energy shields in single shots. Fred's DMR fired steady, precise shots, each one piercing the skull of his intended target. The Master Chief fired controlled bursts into his enemy, quickly diving out of the way of a thrown plasma grenade. A half-second too late and that grenade would have automatically adhered to his armor and incinerated him, energy shield or no. Said shield would have made the UNSC engineers proud, absorbing the few enemy shots that landed while barely dropping to 50% capacity.

A beam rifle round eliminated that 50% and left a black scorch mark on the side of the Chief's helmet. He quickly dove behind the cover of his own heavy crate. Crouching down, he placed his assault rifle on top of the crate and fired, keeping the enemy suppressed, and glanced around the side. He saw the owner of the beam rifle, a Sangheili wearing black spec ops armor, lying prone on a raised platform across the room.

"Blue One, sniper, north side. Take him out." he commed Fred.

The Sangheili sniper's shields flared before abruptly dying, its owner swiftly following.

"Copy Blue Lead, sniper down."

"Blue One advance on west side, I'll take east, over," the Chief instructed.

"Copy, advancing along west."

The Master Chief moved forward along the row of storage units he had taken cover behind. Apparently this building was pulling double duty as storage and administration. He spotted movement on his motion tracker but before he could react a Sangheili burst through the gap between two crates and knocked the Chief into the wall. He nimbly dodged the enemy's attempt to smash his head in, grabbed it, and levered it into the same wall he himself had been knocked into. The Chief then vaulted over a crate and delivered a kick that shoved the box of heavy materials with such force that he could hear the alien's armor crack like an eggshell when it smashed it into the wall. He quickly dove back into cover and made his way to the end of the row. He peeked his head out from cover and was rewarded with heavy plasma fire.

John growled in impatience before finally leaping out from behind cover, jamming his finger down on the trigger of his assault rifle, and charging straight at the surviving Sangheili defending the door to the stairwell. The incoming fire and sheer ferocity of the charge momentarily stunned the Storm warriors, allowing John to close to melee distance. He proceeded to swing his assault rifle at the head of one warrior with such force it shattered the enemy's energy shield. The Chief then followed that up by drawing his combat knife and ramming it into the very surprised Sangheili's eye socket. Another attempted to bash John's head in with its plasma rifle, a blow that the chief nimbly dodged before landing a retaliatory strike to its midsection, thereby dropping the alien's shield. The Chief stabbed his knife through the back of its neck, severing its spinal cord.

He heard the crackle-swish of an energy sword activating behind him and turned just in time to see Fred block the blow with his own energy blade, barely 10cm from the Master Chief's faceplate. The ensuing duel was swift and deadly, Fred moving so fast that he was practically a blur as he easily dodged and parried the Sangheili's broad, powerful swings. Before long the Spartan had sliced off his enemy's sword hand at the wrist and immediately reversed his swing to lop the alien's serpentine head off.

"Come on, we're wasting time!" John shouted before drawing his pistol and smashing through the door into the stairwell. They breached the second floor only to find a room empty of enemies but full of scientific equipment. Some of it was clearly Storm tech, but much of it was also top of the line human analytical devices. The Master Chief had only ever seen such equipment at official UNSC research facilities. Even more surprising, or perhaps less so given the Storm's interest in the place, the room was also full of what were unmistakably Forerunner relics.

None of this occupied the Master Chief's mind for more than a fraction of a second, however, as he sprinted through the room at 60km per hour towards the roof-access stairwell on the far side. Halsey must be up there.

He barely restrained himself from just crashing through the door to the roof, but regained his composure at the last moment. Fred immediately stood to the right of the door while John and Kelly stood to the left. Fred carefully opened the door a crack before throwing his own flashbang through. Once it had detonated he threw the door open, leaning back to avoid the trio of plasma grenades that flew past him, and the three Spartan II supersoldiers dove through the door and resumed their annihilation of the enemy.

The Master Chief immediately spotted 'Mdama headed toward a Banshee, the single-pilot gunship having been concealed from view by a group of carefully positioned crates. The Chief carefully aimed his M6H pistol; a single shot wouldn't take him down, but the rounds packed enough of a punch that a whole magazine should do the trick.

Then he saw her. Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey. His teacher, his creator, his mother. She was currently kneeling on the ground, a Sangheili poised above her about to decapitate her with his energy sword. 'Mdama was almost to the Banshee. Fred and Kelly were occupied dealing with the Storm leader's remaining guards. Linda was still covering the mine entrance. The mission was clear: eliminate Jul 'Mdama at any cost. Killing him would strike a lethal blow to the Storm Covenant. It would potentially end the conflict and prevent the horrors of the Human-Covenant War from repeating itself. His duty was clear...

The Sangheili roared and prepared to slash his blade through the vermin's neck. He was just beginning to bring his blade down when the first of John's pistol shots impacted the elite warrior's energy shield just in front of his ornate helm. The Sangheili whirled, facing his new threat, and was just about to charge when the third-to-last round in the magazine dropped his shield, and the remaining two blew his brains out of the back of his now-ruined helmet.

The Master Chief reloaded his weapon and trained it back on 'Mdama in less than 1.5 seconds, but the self-styled prophet had already boarded his craft and was flying it away at top speed. The Chief's augmentations and the weapon's precision aside, he was not Linda, and it was not Nornfang. Jul 'Mdama had escaped. Blue Team, had failed.

"J-John?" a weak, female voice whispered, as if afraid to believe what it was saying.

The Master Chief immediately sprung into action, drawing a stripped down medical scanner from a pouch at his belt and running it over the doctor. "It's alright, you're safe now," he tried to assure her. Once he was assured she was safe to move, he immediately scooped her into a bridal carry and brought her back to the second floor, hopefully safe from sniper fire.

Dr. Halsey quickly recovered, if her insistence that he put her down at once was any indication. John ignored her.

"Blue One, send a priority message to the _Infinity._ Let them know we have recovered Dr. Halsey," the Chief barked.

"No! Belay that order!" the doctor shouted, squirming in John's arms with surprising energy for a woman her age and in her condition.

He tried to calm her, assuming she was delirious. "It's okay, we're just going to get you somewhere safe."

"Safe?" she responded in an incredulous voice. "Oh, John, you've seen so much, yet you're still so naive."

John had no idea what to say. The med scan and the doctor's appearance suggested she was in perfect mental condition. But, then what was she talking about? He set her on her feet carefully.

"ONI doesn't want to keep me safe, John," she said in a comforting tone, like an adult telling a child about an unfortunate fact of life. "They want to kill me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I cranked this one out faster than expected. I was originally going to make this chapter longer, but this was the first time I ever seriously attempted to depict an action scene and I'm eager for some feedback. I tried to emphasize the experience and efficiency of Blue Team while also showing just how personal this mission has become for John in particular.
> 
> Note: I decided from the beginning that I was going to keep Jul 'Mdama alive. While it's true that killing him wouldn't automatically dissolve the resurgent Covenant, in a story it's generally better to have a face that an audience can put on an enemy faction. A person is someone we can visualize and, to an extent, relate to. An army is more of a mass of faces, with less emotional impact. A nation, more so. I also tried to have the events of Halo 4 have more of an impact on him than they seemed to in canon. I mean, the guy's god seemingly abandoned him. You'd think that would be a big deal, right? Oh, and don't worry—we will be seeing Jul again. Let's just say I've got big plans for him for when our heroes reach Sanghelios. laughs evilly
> 
> Note: The renegade Covenant leader 'Mdama mentions is a reference to the mobile game Spartan Assault. I got it on Steam a while back and was surprised at the quality of the story. It's mostly told through brief text descriptions of each mission and a few lightly animated cutscenes, but I felt it really nailed the bleak tone of the Halo universe. Noone wins in that story; they just survive. Seriously, I love immersing myself in Halo fiction, but it would be a nightmare to actually live in that universe :(
> 
> Note: The dialogue between Halsey and 'Mdama at the beginning is lifted word for word from the opening level of Halo 5. I don't want it to seem that I think Halo 5's story is all terrible. This is no Aliens: Colonial Marines we're talking about. I'll try to incorporate what I thought worked and expand on what I thought held promise as I go.
> 
> Note: I want to make it clear from the start that I will be doing something radically different with Cortana than was done in the canon story. She will not become the cackling supervillainess bent on world domination that the game tried to convince us was Cortana. One of my favorite parts of Halo 4 was this exchange between Cortana and the Didact at the end:
> 
> Didact: You're compassion for mankind is misplaced.
> 
> Cortana: I'm not doing this for mankind.
> 
> I felt that this established Cortana as a person who cared most about the people close to her, rather than some abstract concept like "world peace." This also parallels
> 
> SPOILER ALERT
> 
> Halsey's character arc over the original Nylund novels, in which she went from an ends-justifies-the-means mentality to one that places moral value on everyone. It's more complicated than that, of course, and I'm probably not describing it particularly well, but the point is that Halsey herself was never comfortable with the horrible things that she did over the course of her career. Cortana is supposed to be Halsey without the self-restraint. She's basically Halsey if she ever let her hair down and decided to just live life as best she can rather than placing the weight of the universe on her own shoulders. Maybe you don't agree, but that's just how I've always interpreted it.
> 
> END SPOILER ALERT
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"...what?" John-117 asked in a small, stunned voice.

"ONI wants to kill me, John," Dr. Halsey reiterated. "If you report my recovery and bring me back to the _Infinity,_ I won't last a week."

This was insane. Impossible. John had always been wary of spooks, having rarely worked alongside them even though the Office of Naval Intelligence had authorized and funded the Spartan II program that had given him and his siblings their purpose in this galaxy. This, though...this just couldn't be.

"That-that's impossible," he said, a weak resolution tinging his voice. "You're important. An Alpha level asset. You've given them years of service-"

"I've given _humanity_ years of service, John," Halsey responded in a soft but firm tone. "Humanity, and the particular humans I care most for," at this she looked around at the rest of the Spartans present.

Her sentimental statement went unnoticed by the Master Chief, who was still trying to process what his mother was attempting to tell him. "You-you must be mistaken. Lord Hood would never allow-"

Dr. Halsey interrupted again, patiently trying to get John to accept the truth. "Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood has his hands full trying to keep the entire UNSC military together and in recovery. He is not omniscient. Nor is ONI in the habit of keeping him in the loop when they are able to avoid it. Trust me John, I've worked for them for most of my adult life. I know how they think, and I know how they operate."

John-117 stared at her blankly. He couldn't accept it. He wouldn't.

His mother sighed. "John...how do you think I lost my arm?" she asked, gesturing to the stump located about 15cm from her left shoulder. The Master Chief had of course noticed it. In fact, he fully expected to be furious about what 'Mdama had obviously done to her after the mission, when he allowed himself to emotionally process what he had seen.

What she said next eliminated his ability to wait that long.

"I lost it when a Spartan IV shot me. On orders from ONI to end my life."

The Master Chief instinctually went into Spartan Time. The world slowed around him. However, unlike all of the other times he had entered it over the past 30 years, the effect was accompanied by a red haze descending over his vision.

John let out a feral, animalistic sound, somewhere between a growl and a roar. He started to pace the floor, turning his head this way and that, looking for something to rip to pieces. Or, rather, looking for some _one_. Someone responsible. Someone who had hurt his family. Who had tried to _destroy_ his family. Distantly he heard voices, perhaps calling out to him. This was unimportant. There were threats to those he loved. He would find them, crush them, make them pay!

As he turned around he saw one of his sisters...Kelly...looking directly into his eyes with a pleading expression. Her skin, like his own, was unnaturally pale, a drawback of spending so much time encased in armor. Her blue eyes were wide with concern. Her brown hair, kept just under max regulation length, was tousled from her helmet. Wait...her helmet...her helmet was off in a combat zone!

The Master Chief was back in an instant. "Blue Three, put your helmet back on, now!" he barked with all of the authority a lifetime as a non-commissioned officer had given him.

"Ah, thank goodness," Dr. Halsey sighed in relief, as Kelly obediently and swiftly re-donned her Mark VI helmet. "You're back amongst the living."

Her voice riveted the Master Chief's attention to the aging doctor. He was in serious danger of slipping back into irrationality when Blue One...Fred...interrupted.

"Uh, Blue Lead, we've been up here a while. You might want to check in with Blue Two," he said cautiously.

"Blue Two, status report, over" the Chief commed.

"Blue Lead, I am having difficulty repelling Storm reinforcements. Recommend finishing up in there and pulling out before I run out of rounds, sir, over," she responded.

"Copy that, Blue Two, Blue Lead out," the Master Chief said. He looked toward his squadmates and the VIP. "Alright, we'll continue this discussion in a secure location." Dr. Halsey looked about to interrupt. "We'll hold off on notifying _Infinity_ until after we've discussed this. We'll talk on the Pelican," he said, which seemed to satisfy her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Blue Team quickly evacuated the facility, waiting for the Storm reinforcements within the mine to fall back and regroup before retreating to the Pelican as fast as they safely could. Dr. Halsey was held in a bridal carry, albeit by Kelly this time. Once again she had protested vigorously and once again the Master Chief had insisted. The good doctor may have worked to keep herself fit but 6 months in Storm captivity and her 66 years of age meant that she would slow Blue Team down to an unacceptable speed. She was at least slightly mollified when the Chief had agreed to transport several data cubes and Forerunner relics, which he had put in packs and distributed amongst Blue Team for convenience. They also set several timed demolition charges on the most valuable items that they could not transport, thus denying valuable assets to the Storm Covenant's war effort.

As they made their way back, the Master Chief was careful not to reflect on what had transpired in the command center. Although "research center" was probably more appropriate. He could not afford to have a repeat of his...episode...while in the field, especially now that they were entering the final stretch of the operation. Just before everything is done is the most likely place for things to go wrong due to carelessness, after all.

Fortunately they managed to reach the dropship without encountering any Storm patrols. The battle had gone decidedly against the aliens now and 'Mdama would most likely be forced to retreat before long. The religious leader had certainly overextended his forces striking this far into UEG territory. The Chief suspected his motivation for doing so was currently residing in several packs carried by him and his squadmates.

They reached the Pelican and the Chief ordered Blue One to release a small UAV recon drone to alert them of any approaching threats. They opted not to use it before due to the high probability of it being detected and shot down by the Storm, thus ruining the element of surprise. With the op largely complete and the battle having moved a hundred kilometers away, according to comms chatter, the Chief decided to risk detection in favor of having advance warning.

The meter-wide disc shaped UAV rose into the air, the Pelican doors closed, Blue Team set down their burdens, and John no longer had an excuse to put off what he desperately didn't want to think about. He decided to confront the enemy head on.

"Why would ONI want to have you killed?" he asked Dr. Halsey. The good doctor sighed, and took a seat on one of the chairs lining the wall of the troop compartment. She fidgeted briefly, frowning at the uncomfortable seat, before starting her explanation.

"Several reasons," she responded carefully. "The proverbial last straw was most likely my...activities on the _Infinity._ " She paused, looking thoughtful, before continuing, "I had been called to the flagship to assist in researching the planet designated 'Requiem.' However, I was working under considerable restraints. ONI didn't like my scheme to take you and your remaining siblings to the planet Onyx, and used that as an excuse to have me imprisoned." She was referring to an incident wherein Halsey had essentially abducted an unconscious Kelly, stolen a ship, set course for a secret ONI colony on Onyx, and sent a message to UNSC High Command to "Send Spartans." Her stated reason for doing so was to recover Forerunner relics that could prove critical to winning the war. They didn't find any.

"An excuse?" Fred asked in a confused tone.

"Yes, Frederic. I have always butted heads with ONI command. Over the years our...disagreements built into a steady animosity and distrust. I suspect they had been looking for a way to get rid of me for years. As for Requiem," Halsey took a deep breath, "I was able to covertly contact Jul 'Mdama and attempt to use him to gain information on Requiem that the _Infinity_ had no access to. I tricked him into believing I was willing to share intelligence and scientific knowledge and was in the process of extracting valuable data from him when my scheme was discovered. 'Mdama managed to take me captive, and ONI tried to have me killed."

The members of Blue Team just stared at her.

"That's...a pretty high stakes game, Doctor," Linda spoke up.

"What in space were you _thinking_?" John asked. How was it possible that the smartest person he had ever known could do something so reckless?

The Doctor's response was as sincere as it was shameless. "Because it needed to be done. 'Mdama could have unearthed the secrets of Requiem. We needed to beat him to it if humanity was going to survive."

"And only you could see what needed to be done," John said wearily, understanding. Dr. Halsey had always been a bit of an egotist but this really took the prize.

"That is correct, actually, and I would appreciate it if you didn't take that tone with me, young man," she scolded.

John smiled beneath his helmet in spite of himself. It was good to see the crazy old woman again.

He decided to bring the discussion back to the present. "The question is, what do we do now-"

He was interrupted by a tremor shaking the Pelican.

"Blue One, report," he told Fred, who promptly checked the data feed from the UAV.

"Nothing near here, Blue Lead."

"It is a Guardian," Dr. Halsey said.

"A _what?_ " John asked.

"A Guardian. An ancient Forerunner device of inestimable power. It was buried here millenia ago. I was researching it when you found me. It seems something, or someone, has activated it."

_Another Forerunner superweapon,_ John thought, groaning internally.

"How do we stop it?"

"I'm afraid that there's nothing you can do to stop this one," she said sadly.

"'This one?'" he demanded.

"Yes. I'm afraid this is not the first Guardian to be awakened. Nor, I fear, will it be the last." Halsey gestured to the gear that the Spartans had carried back to the Pelican. "With the data and Forerunner devices we brought with us I believe I can predict where the next one will surface. Perhaps even determine how to stop them. And before you ask, no, I don't yet know what their exact function is," Halsey said, looking far more disturbed about her own ignorance than she had about ONI putting a kill order on her.

Another tremor shook the Pelican.

"That one was bigger than the first," Kelly observed.

"They will only get bigger, until the Guardian emerges from the ground," Halsey assured her, "Then it will release an EMP powerful enough to disable any unshielded electronics on the planet, rise into high orbit, and disappear into slipspace."

"We need to get this data back to the _Infinity_ immediately," the Master Chief said.

"If we tell them about this they'll kill Dr. Halsey," Kelly objected. "We need to figure out what to do with her first."

"That information will likely be wasted in official hands," Dr. Halsey interjected. "ONI has been working hard to cover up any knowledge of the Guardians from leaking to the public. Try to report this and they will in all probability secret it away and order you not to speak a word of it."

"That's insane. ONI isn't that stupid," the Chief responded.

Another tremor shook the Pelican, this one large enough to force the Spartans to brace themselves to avoid falling over.

"No?" Halsey demanded. "Fred, Linda, Kelly. You were all on Onyx. Do you remember the Forerunner ruins on that planet?"

They all nodded. It would be hard to forget a colony world that had been inhabited for years only to turn out to be an artificial construct. They had lost Spartans preventing the Covenant from getting their claws on any of that technology.

"ONI knew about those ruins for years before the Covenant even invaded. Years before anyone else knew about the existence of sapient alien life. They kept it secret from everyone who was not directly employed by the Office of Naval Intelligence." Halsey began speaking swiftly and animatedly, her voice tinged with outrage. "Even as the Human-Covenant War stretched on for years, as world after world fell, they kept it secret. No universities were allowed to send their researchers there. No private technology firms were permitted to reverse engineer valuable technology from the ruins. No marine, navy, or army engineers were permitted access. ONI was convinced only _they_ could unlock the secrets of the Forerunner ruins. And when they couldn't do it, they pulled all of the science teams off of it and simply let the Forerunner ruins sit idle!"

The Spartans paused for a moment, considering that. The UNSC had been at a severe technological disadvantage for the entirety of the war. The UNSC was only now able to even outfit its ships with energy shields, a technology the Covenant had had for centuries. Access to Forerunner inspired tech could conceivably have changed the course of the war.

"ONI views itself to be all powerful. They probably give _themselves_ sole credit for the defeat of the Covenant. They think that if things are just kept quiet and they are allowed to operate with impunity, then they will be able to solve any crisis up to and including wild Forerunner doomsday machines."

The members of Blue Team looked at each other. Kelly seemed uncertain. Fred seemed skeptical. Linda was as unreadable as ever. John simply sat still a moment, and asked a question.

"Are you suggesting we handle this by ourselves?"

Dr. Halsey paused. "I am suggesting that you will have to choose how best to utilize these resources." She looked directly into John's polarized faceplate. He got the impression, impossible though it was, that she could still see directly into his eyes. "I am suggesting that you must decide for yourselves."

The Pelican shook violently, forcing the Spartans to secure all gear lest any of it go flying around the compartment.

"Whatever we're doing, we better do it fast!" Fred warned.

"John, there's more..."

The Master Chief looked at Doctor Halsey. What else could she possibly spring on him?

"It's Cortana."

John-117 froze. "What?" he asked.

"The signals I've interpreted from this and other Guardians show a distinct fingerprint." She once again looked past his faceplate and into his eyes. "Somehow, Cortana is directly involved with the Guardians awakening. If we find the source of these occurrences, we may find _her._ Or at the very least," she replied hesitantly, "what's left of her."

" _Is she alive?_ " the Chief demanded.

"I don't know, John! It's not that simple with AIs," Halsey responded. "Throw Forerunner technology into the mix and the uncertainty grows exponentially! But...it is possible."

John abruptly sat down, his legs collapsing from under him. The seat groaned in protest as his half-ton bulk suddenly crashed onto it.

Too much. This was too much. His mother, his partner, the institution that created him...It felt like his entire world was collapsing. He put his hands to the sides of his helmet as he desperately tried to center himself.

Suddenly, unbidden, a memory overtook him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I can give you over forty thousand reasons why I know that sun isn't real."

Cortana was referring to the micro-star deep within the Forerunner "planet" Requiem. It was visible outside the viewpoint that Cortana's hologram was "standing" in front of.

The false sun shone brightly on the beautiful landscape built in the interior of the artificial world. Enormous, impossibly tall towers of metal, emblazoned with Forerunner hieroglyphs, jutted into the sky. Vast oceans and lakes reflected the sunlight, sparkling dazzlingly bright. Entire forests teemed with life; fauna ranging from small scavengers to enormous birds of prey roamed the surface. The Forerunner's home held multiple biomes, from arid desert landscapes to frigid tundras. It was strange that the home of a genocidal maniac seemed to be built to celebrate the diversity of life.

"I know it because the emitter's Rayleigh effect is disproportionate to its suggested size. I know it because its stellar cycle is more symmetrical than that of an actual star."

The Master Chief listened as he continued to prep his gear for the coming fight. Captain Del Rio, current CO of the _Infinity,_ had refused to pursue the Didact, intending to retreat and regroup. They didn't have that kind of time. If the Didact managed to escape Requiem there was no telling what the insane Forerunner general would be capable of. The billions of deaths in the Human-Covenant War might well be a skirmish compared to what the Didact could potentially unleash. When Del Rio had attempted to take Cortana offline, citing regulations concerning rampant artificial intelligences, the Chief had had enough. He needed Cortana. If Del Rio was too much of a coward to face this threat, than they would do it themselves. His duty was clear.

"But for all that, I'll never actually know if it looks real...if it _feels_ real."

Cortana was speaking in a wistful tone that made the Master Chief feel distinctly uncomfortable. She had been nearly resigned to her impending death when she first revealed that she was suffering the effects of rampancy. Seeing his friend experience mood swings, suddenly divert into rambling tangents about topics completely unrelated to anything they were dealing with, and gradually losing her ability to effectively utilize her virtual skills had been difficult. Seeing her so close to losing hope, had been unbearable. They would have to get her help fast once the Didact had been defeated.

Cortana's hologram "turned around" to find him finishing up cleaning his assault rifle.

John felt uneasy under her gaze. She knew that he had been listening, right? After all, AIs didn't actually _see_ out of their holograms. The holograms were produced by subroutines that mimicked the AIs mental and emotional responses. She could see him the entire time, not to mention pick up on the subtle biological cues that indicated he had been paying attention. Right?

"Before this is all over, promise me you'll figure out which one of us is the machine."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_What did that mean?_ The Master Chief asked himself. _What did any of it mean?_ He looked down at his hands. He had been unable to save his friend. He had been unable to save so many of his family. Now he was being given information that could save the human race, but also told that the people he trusted to tell him who and where to fight would not use it? That those very same people had tried to murder his mother? The Chief had, effectively, gone rogue before. He defied orders to stand down when he pursued the Didact. But this...Refusing to hand over essential intelligence, cutting the entire UNSC brass out of the loop, was unquestionably treason. At the very least it was gross dereliction of duty.

_Cortana may be alive._

John-117 decided that he had never really liked ONI in the first place.

The Master Chief stood up and turned to the rest of Blue Team.

"I'm coming with you," Linda said before he could tell them to return to base.

"Linda that's-"

"I'm in, too," Fred added.

"Three," Kelly said.

"Well, you won't get far without me," Dr. Halsey quipped.

John was at a loss for words.

"Look at it this way, Blue Lead," Fred said casually, "they can't court martial all of us!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Pelican dropship rose into the air as the ground continued to quake. The human soldier remained concealed in the blue-green foliage and watched as the Pelican rose into the air and out of sight...carrying his target.

"Osiris Lead to Control, over."

"Go ahead, Osiris Lead, over."

"We have a snag..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Spartan Jameson Locke was not happy. In fact, you could say he was actually rather pissed off.

His target had escaped. It was a simple kill mission. Hunt down a traitor ONI egghead, put a bullet between her eyes, exfil, and call for evac. Simple. It wasn't until he had hit planetside that everything went to hell.

First, his target hadn't been where intel said she'd be. Turns out the Covenant had gotten one over the ONI agents assigned to decipher the intercepted comms. Fed them false information. Pathetic. He never would have made such a rookie mistake when he'd been openly with ONI.

Then, it turned out that the location she _was_ in was about to be assaulted by the one group that Control absolutely, positively, did not want coming into contact with her: Blue Team. The only surviving Spartan IIs. The good doctor's twisted "children."

Locke had arrived too late to intervene. Not that he was sure what he could have done to stop them. A single Spartan II he could take, but a squad of them in full combat gear? Locke was confident but he wasn't stupid. He had stayed hidden as he watched Blue Team retrieve the target, take her to their evac site, and take off. With the target.

Worst of all, he hadn't detected any transmissions go out from either Blue Team themselves or their Pelican. His fears were confirmed when he got back to _Infinity_ and discovered that, no, Blue Team hadn't checked in and, no, there was no word about what had happened to Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey.

All of which was a long way of saying that Locke had failed his mission. Due to circumstances completely beyond his control. Other people had botched their jobs, and now he would have a black mark on his record. Shit.

Thus it was with a sense of frustration that he approached one of the private communications terminals in the _Infinitiy'_ s recreation wing. He smiled at one of the female technicians before stepping inside the enclosed booth to talk to his "girlfriend." Once inside, he took out his personal datapad, removed a device from a hidden compartment in its casing, and attached it to the interior of the door. The device would jam any active monitoring equipment and broadcast vibrations through the door. Any snooping passersby would hear a pre-recorded conversation between Locke and his fictional "girlfriend." It would, of course, be unacceptable for the officers of the _Infinity_ to learn that they were not really the one's giving Locke his orders.

He logged into the terminal and input the correct address. Within seconds he was greeted not by a video feed of the other party, as was standard for waypoint calls, but with a simple gray outline of a human, similar to what one would see on the door to a ship's lavatory, set against a white background. It was the default user image, and it was all Locke ever saw of his superiors in the Office of Naval Intelligence.

"Report, Omega-1," the Disembodied Voice commanded. As always, the voice was garbled to prevent any possible means of identification.

"Mission was a complete failure," Locke grimaced to himself. "Package evaded elimination and rendezvoused with Alpha Delta. Alpha Delta has subsequently gone AWOL. Please advise."

"Stand by," DV responded. As the minutes stretched on Locke began to get nervous. He was a high-level asset. He didn't have anything to worry about. Right?

"Report on the entity," the DV at last continued, referring to the Forerunner device.

"Entity activated in accordance with expectations," the Spartan IV responded. A rather inadequate description for something so awe-inspiring, if you asked him. The thing had burst from the ground, rising into the air like a robot out of a bad monster movie, and let out an EMP that made Locke's shields flare bright orange. It had then risen into space where it had swiftly disappeared into slipspace before either the UNSC or Covenant fleets could disengage from each other and target it. If Locke hadn't retrieved some data and Forerunner relics from the mining complex before following Blue Team to its LZ they probably wouldn't have any more data on it than they had gained before Conrad's Point.

Another long pause. Locke was really starting to dislike those.

"You have a new assignment, Omega-1," DV said at last. "You are to locate and recover Alpha Delta. It must be returned to its proper place ASAP. Resources and further instructions will be delivered to you via official channels."

"Clarification request. Should I continue previous assignment?" Locke asked, wondering how Blue Team would respond to him killing their "mother." He decided he would rather not find out.

"Negative, Omega-1. Return previous target to UNSC custody if possible but do not pursue previous objective. Doing so would create potential obstacles to current objective."

Locke sighed in relief. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to subdue 4 rogue Spartan II supersoldiers and transport them back to UNSC custody. Practically a milk run. Right.

What DV said next made his new task even more unpleasant to contemplate.

"You will be given command of a fireteam. Said team will be your companions for the foreseeable future. End transmission."

The screen abruptly returned to its home page.

A squad. Fantastic. Just what he needed.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

" _That's_ the ship we're gonna be taking?" Fred asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

They were currently looking at a clearly derelict space station nestled in orbit on the dark side of the moon over Conrad's Point. Attached to its dorsal structure was what was clearly a miniature shipyard. Two long metal beams jutted out of the top of the installation in a prong shape, the "inner" sides full of construction equipment. Robotic arms held welders, clamps, and manipulating claws. Emergency air tanks and suit parts were stored at regular distances in case a worker experienced a suit breach while performing EVA activity. In the middle of all of this was a rather small ship. It was shaped roughly like a terrestrial aircraft, with a single central section to house the crew and two triangular, swept wings connected to it on opposite sides of the fuselage. It had what was clearly a cockpit section, although it lacked any windows, doubtless relying on external camera feeds. It was only a little longer than the now-obsolete Longsword 4-man fighter/bomber, looking to be roughly 70m long, and it appeared to be even thinner at roughly 50m from wing tip to wing tip.

"That thing even have a slipspace drive on it?" Fred continued.

"Of course it does," Dr. Halsey responded, "I would hardly have bothered bringing you all here if it didn't."

"What did you say this facility was again?" he asked.

However it was Blue Two, Linda, who responded. "The UNSC _Argent Moon._ It was a top secret ONI research base. Stated goal was to refine and advance stealth technology, taking advantage of recovered Covenant tech. Contact with it was lost in 2556 following a single, garbled transmission reporting an attack by an unknown Sangheili force, now known to be one of the predecessors to the Storm Covenant. The Storm attack ship was most likely destroyed by station defenses and eventually pulled by gravity onto the moon's surface. The officers in charge of the project had managed to keep its exact location secret. When the facility went dark, said officers disappeared, and noone knew where to find it. ONI lost billions of credit units and priceless technology when _Argent Moon_ was lost. Dr. Halsey must have discovered its location by covertly examining old records while in Storm captivity."

"That..that is correct," Dr. Halsey said, almost allowing a bit of shock to show in her voice. "How did you know that?"

"I have sources," Linda responded cryptically.

"'You have sources...'" Fred repeated, confused.

"Explain, Blue Two," the Master Chief ordered.

Linda complied instantly. "Over the course of my career I established a series of contacts and informants in the regular UNSC military, as well as a few low-ranking ONI employees. I've also refined my hacking and social engineering skills to enable me to locate information I feel would be valuable and cannot acquire through a third party. It's not up to par with any official intelligence service, but I keep my ear to the ground," Linda said in a business-like tone, as if she were talking about something completely normal.

"Wait," Kelly said, "are you telling me that you've been secretly developing a spy network within the UNSC for decades? And that said network has given you access to classified materials?"

"A _small_ spy network, but effectively, yes," Linda replied.

The Master Chief was more than a little perturbed. "And you didn't think to mention this to anyone?"

"I didn't feel it was relevant, sir," Linda said defensively. She quickly added, "It's important to keep any sources on a strictly need-to-know basis. Anyway, for most of the war we were on different teams and if I did find something useful in our joint missions I just accessed your compad and added it to your mission brief."

"You _hacked my compads_?" the Chief asked, incredulous.

"Only sometimes, sir," she said uncomfortably.

"And you're telling me ONI has no idea you were doing this?" Kelly asked insistently.

"I figured out that I shouldn't trust them pretty quickly. If they had figured it out on their own, I imagine I would have received disciplinary actions," Linda replied, her tone once again all business.

The Master Chief snorted inside his helmet, careful not to transmit the sound.

To everyone's surprise, Dr. Halsey started chuckling. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Did I ever tell any of you what I found Linda up to back when I first identified her for recruitment?"

They all responded in the negative, save for Linda, who remained conspicuously silent.

"I discovered that she had developed a network of informants among her fellow students, and even some faculty members, in order to spy on the teachers of her school. She used the information they provided her to tailor her behavior in each class in order to maximize the positive impression she left on each teacher. Rather impressive work for a 5 year old, wouldn't you say?" Dr. Halsey elaborated.

Linda, once again, remained silent.

"I guess its true what they say," Fred chuckled, "it's always the quiet ones."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of Blue Team kept Fred covered as he pulled the inert airlock doors open, revealing the darkened interior of the derelict space station. There was obvious damage throughout the corridor. Plasma scoring and bullet holes dotted the walls, signs of the desperate battle that had been waged there. The exterior hull had been breached in several places by Covenant boarding craft, their interiors, visible from the corridor, were as dark and lifeless as the station they were attached to. Frozen corpses, both human and Sangheili, littered the floor, looking like gray clumps of clay in the enhanced light mode of Spartan's helmets. There was no atmosphere, the air having leaked out and the life support systems shutting off when the power failed.

Said power had failed when something breached the reactor, bathing the entire interior of the ship in lethal radiation. For this reason, Dr. Halsey had been forced to remain on the Pelican, the Spartan's MJOLNIR armor being the only thing that allowed the members of Blue Team to safely operate inside.

The Master Chief motioned forward. Blue Three pushed into the corridor, followed by the Master Chief and Blue One, who covered the side passages, and Blue Two, who covered the rear. While it was exceptionally unlikely that they would find any hostiles, the Spartans were not in the habit of taking chances.

They made their way through the facility, passing several labs filled with astronomically expensive equipment. They eventually made their way to the control center and proceeded to use cutting torches to create an opening in the now-inert security doors. They crawled through the hole, careful to avoid the red hot edges, and proceeded to the computer consoles. Linda attached a portable power generator to the main unit, plugged her radiation-shielded compad into the administrative terminal, and activated the decryption program she and Dr. Halsey had written on the Pelican ride from the surface of Conrad's Point.

"I can't believe ONI just lost track of this place," Kelly remarked. "I can think of more than a few times over the past few years we could have used functional stealth tech."

"I suppose it would be difficult for someone of your background to understand, Kelly," Halsey answered over the comms, slipping into her "instructor" tone of voice. "You're used to a normal military command structure. Picture the roots of a tree. The top of the root is the highest ranking flag officer, currently Terrence Hood, and each fork in the branches below him represents an officer. All information flows upward, so the individual on top, at least theoretically, has access to all the information the whole has collected. This allows him and his subordinates to effectively coordinate the activities of the various branches." The Spartans were following along so far.

"ONI, however, is not set up so efficiently. Instead of the root, picture a large box. Inside the box are a number of smaller boxes. However, the boxes don't simply decrease in size as you look further in from the edges. Some boxes are placed parallel to each other; they are separate, with the individuals within one box having no access to the information within the other. Many of these separate boxes have other, smaller boxes within them, some of which include additional boxes within them. The commanding officers of ONI are often not kept informed of what every division and subdivision is doing. The exact workings of the whole of ONI is never known by any one party, even those at the 'top.'"

The Spartans marveled at the sheer lack of logic in such a system. "But how would the individual departments know how to keep out of each other's way?" the Master Chief asked.

"Ah, now you're beginning to understand, John," Halsey praised. "They don't. It would be bad enough if these boxes merely gathered information, but as you know, this is not the case. Countless operations and projects have met with setbacks, if not outright failure, because other departments accidentally interfered with their work. Informants that one department spent years developing have been assassinated by other departments that had no idea of the individual's duplicitous activities. Priceless intelligence has been lost when impetuous, opportunistic officers ordered air strikes on enemy camps they just learned the location of, spoiling the tireless work of an unknown department that had let said camp develop in order to intercept its communications. It's a testament to the ruthlessness and sheer, bloody-minded stubbornness of its leaders that the Office of Naval Intelligence even functions at all."

The Master Chief shook his head. His decision to pursue the Guardians on his own initiative was looking more and more like the right decision. He made a mental note to have a good, long conversation with Lord Hood when this was all over. This insanity needed to stop.

"We've got access," Linda announced from the console.

"Take all of the information on the prototype stealth vessel. I want instructions, manuals, schematics, everything we can fit on the data cubes," the Master Chief ordered. The ship they had spotted before was a prototype "micro-prowler." Designed to be operated by a crew of less than five, the state-of-the-art stealth vessel was the most advanced recon and surveillance ship ever designed by human minds. Its hull was made of a special composite material that was undetectable to all types of passive scans and most types of active ones. It was completely coated in a brand new paint-like material that absorbed the majority of light that impacted it. Most importantly, it was the first starship in recorded history to feature active-cloaking technology. Said tech would bend the light around the ship, making it nearly invisible to the visual spectrum, and foil even more types of scanners.

"I thought cloaking tech was impossible on anything larger than 3 meters?" Fred had asked back on the Pelican, referring to the limitation Covenant engineers had accepted as universal for centuries.

"While active-cloaking technology is still severely limited, it is not quite as limited as the Covenant believed," Halsey had responded. "I doubt it could ever work on anything larger than the prototype vessel outside the station. Also, please remember that this technology is not flawless. Get too close, or stay too long in an area of space the enemy knows you occupy, and they _will_ find a way to locate you...or should I say, _us_."

Linda retrieved all the data available on the micro-prowler, as well as several terabytes of logs, security codes, and miscellaneous information that could prove useful for a their group of renegades. The codes would of course be long out of date, but they needed every resource they could potentially make use of. As such, Blue Team made sure to raid the station armory for much-needed supplies. They found only a few crates of usable ammunition, some fragmentation grenades, and three standard issue MA5C assault rifles. Slim pickings, indeed.

They then proceeded to scavenge the various labs and maintenance areas for important supplies. Given the small size of their new ship, their options were painfully limited considering what could be needed for such an unconventional, independent operation. Food and medical supplies were particularly prized. Eventually they had gathered everything they safely could, and made their way back out of the station.

Once on the outside they activated two emergency radiation chambers by the shipyard section of the facility. Said "chambers" were made up of specially designed plastic walls that folded out from compartments attached to the exterior hull. The Spartans piled their scavenged equipment in one, closed and activated it, and then crawled into the other themselves. Once activated, a nozzle at the "bottom" of the chamber began spraying a thick, pink foam into it. The foam expanded upon contact with their armor, growing to cover ever millimeter of exposed material, every nook and seam. The foam then leeched the excess radiation into itself, trapping it within the bounds of its own material. After several minutes the foam began to harden and the Spartans were able to brush most of it off. They exited the chamber, retrieved their gear, and headed back to the Pelican.

An hour later they had opened the micro-prowler, activated its life support, and moved Dr. Halsey and all of the necessary gear into it. Fortunately, the ship's fusion reactor was already installed and awaiting activation when the force of Covenant remnant had attacked.

Thus free of immediate worries, Dr. Halsey proceeded to spend the next 24 hours attempting to discern the most probable place the next Guardian would awaken.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Meridian," she announced to the gathered members of Blue Team.

The Master Chief searched his memory of UEG colonies. "Wasn't that an outer colony that was glassed in 2548?" he asked.

"Correct, John," she responded. "However, 2 years ago the UEG Senate gave approval for a private corporation, the 'Liang-Dortmund Company,' to settle on the planet and begin terraforming operations there. It hasn't gotten far yet, obviously, but there are several small portions of the planet that are now livable. One of them even has an orbital elevator."

"That's where we'll find the Guardian?" the Chief asked, wanting confirmation.

"Correct. Once there, we will need to locate the primary Forerunner ruins so I can access its computer systems. It's the only way I will be able to trace the awakening of the Guardians to their source," Halsey explained.

_And find Cortana_ , John silently added.

"Meridian it is."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Spartan Locke, greetings," Captain Thomas Lasky said. They were in a small briefing room, and Locke was about to be assigned his squad. Presiding over the events was a young ONI Officer. She didn't deign to identify herself, although her uniform identified her as a "Maj. Ackerson."

The Captain and the Spartan IV traded salutes before sitting down, Locke in front of Lasky's desk and Lasky behind it. Ackerson stood to one side.

"In the interest of mutual cooperation between the UNSC _Infinity_ and the Office of Naval Intelligence I am hereby transferring you and three of your fellow Spartans into their direct command for the duration of one operation. I have already taken the liberty of selecting said Spartans and will send you their files now. All three have top of the line training, significant field experience, and have been instructed in the use of the new MJOLNIR Mark VIII armor. I'm confident you'll be satisfied," Lasky said, sounding like he was reading off of a sheet. He had probably rehearsed that several times before this meeting. Clearly, he was unhappy being overseen by ONI. While technically only a captain, Thomas Lasky commanded the _Infinity_ , flagship of the UNSC fleet. In reality he answered only to Fleet Admiral Hood himself.

Unfortunately for him, events on Requiem had put him on ONI's shit list for the time being. He had been ordered to have Dr. Halsey eliminated and while he had sent a team of Spartans to do just that, he had also sent an additional team to extract her alive before the order could be carried out. Needless to say, ONI had not been pleased. For the time being he would have to accommodate their desires, Admiral Hood's protection or not.

Locke's compad chirped, signaling that he had received the files Lasky had sent him on the three soldiers. Locke's eyebrows shot up as looked over the list.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ackerson asked. Apparently Lasky had sent her the files as well. Or not.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Lasky replied, stone-faced. "All of these Spartans are perfectly capable soldiers."

"This so-called 'team' is a timebomb, Captain! They are wholly unsuited for the tasks they will have to carry out on their coming assignment," Ackerson all but shouted.

Locke couldn't help but agree. Not that they would be unsuited for waging war, of course. Rather, they were unsuited for working for ONI. He wouldn't want to trust any of them to do the ugly things necessary for those who lived in the shadows. _Maybe they're supposed to keep me in line_ , Locke thought. _Maybe even inform on me to the good Captain Lasky and his papa Hood._

"These soldiers are fully trained Spartan IVs, Major," Lasky responded calmly. "I assure you they have more than enough discipline, professionalism, and combat aptitude for even the most difficult of assignments. It's what Spartans were made for, after all."

Ackerson fumed, but Locke knew there was nothing that she could do. Short of coming out and admitting that she wanted a squad that was amenable to committing war crimes she could not reasonably argue that these elite soldiers could not make the cut. Unfortunately for her and Locke, ONI did not have any direct control over the Spartan IV program or the _Infinity._ Fleet Admiral Hood, cunning bastard that he was, had seen to that when he oversaw the creation of both. It was the foremost reason the ONI leadership was so desperate to get Blue Team back under control. Having run their lives with complete control since age 6, ONI could tell the Spartan IIs to jump naked into a star and they wouldn't hesitate to fabricate a suicide note, steal a ship, and jump out the airlock themselves just to make sure everyone thought it was their idea. The only one who could possibly subvert that control was their mother figure, Dr. Halsey. As soon as she was dealt with, ONI would have their drones back.

"I...thank you for your cooperation, Captain Lasky. They will do fine," Ackerson ground out from behind clenched teeth.

Captain Lasky nodded to her before looking to Spartan Locke. "You have your orders, Spartan. Dismissed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Locke sat in his office, looking over the files one last time before meeting his new crew in person. He had arranged for them to report to his office one at a time. This would allow him to get a feel for each Spartan as an individual. It would also let him establish who was boss. He would bet cash units that none of them were happy working for a former spook and he needed to establish the proper respect fast.

There was a knock at his door. First up.

"Enter," Locke called out, standing up from his desk chair.

Squadmate Number 1 entered the room. She walked ramrod straight, stopped in front of his desk, and saluted. "Sir, Spartan Holly Tanaka reporting for duty, sir!"

Technically everything she had just done was completely regulation. However, given the informality Spartan IVs tended to have amongst themselves and the completely deadpan, ultra-serious way she said it, Spartan Tanaka had somehow managed to turn a completely regulation greeting into a middle finger.

Locke sighed internally and returned the salute. "At ease, Spartan."

Tanaka went to parade rest, feet shoulder length apart, hands behind her back, chest out and shoulders back. More sarcasm.

_Sweet Christmas_ , Locke thought to himself.

"Cut the 'sir' crap, Spartan, we're not on parade," Locke said sternly.

Tanaka nodded, relaxing her posture.

"So, I imagine you've received your new standing orders?" Locke asked, walking around the desk to lean against the front of it directly in front of Tanaka.

"I am to report to you as squad leader for the duration of a mission assigned to us by the Office of Naval Intelligence," she said, voice still thoroughly businesslike.

Locke decided that he needed to break that facade. "So, Tanaka, you grew up on Minab, right, the outer colony?"

"Correct, boss," Tanaka replied. Locke supposed that would have to do in place of "sir."

Tanaka spoke with what was called a "Harvest accent," common to many outer colonists. Harvest had been an agrarian world before the Covenant glassed it. It was the most successful outer colony in UEG history and had featured heavily in ONI propaganda about the prosperity of life in the outer colonies. Unfortunately, said ubiquitous propaganda had led to the association of the "Harvest accent" with farming in general and, by extension, poor education and inferior intellect. It was an asinine and utterly illogical extension, of course, but it was one that had existed for millenia and didn't seem likely to go away any time soon. Locke decided to zero in on it.

"So, Ta-NAW-ka," he said, intentionally exaggerating the pronunciation in a butchering of the female Spartan's accent, "how exactly did an Innie brat like you make it into the Spartans?"

Tanaka's jaw clenched and Locke could tell she desperately wanted to pummel him into the floor. She kept her eyes dead ahead as she responded.

"Boss, I have never been associated with any Insurrectionist forces. I am and have always been a loyal citizen of the United Earth Government and have served the United Nations Space Command faithfully since my enlistment," she said.

Locke sighed internally. She had technically kept her cool and responded appropriately and logically, but he would still have to tread carefully around her if he wanted to maintain unit cohesion. He supposed it was the best he could hope for. If they had met 40 years ago she probably _would_ have been an Innie and he probably would have only ever seen her through the sights of his rifle.

"Good," Locke said. "I expect nothing less from a fellow Spartan," Locke walked back around his desk and sat down, gesturing for Tanaka to take a seat. She did so, her back straight as ever. "Let's discuss your equipment. As you know, in deference to the Spartans' role of morale boosters, Spartan IVs are encouraged to customize the appearance of their armor. This makes them more distinctive and, ideally, more inspirational. I find the design you came up with...interesting, to say the least."

Said design was one of the oddest armor configurations Locke had ever seen. MJOLNIR armor was composed of several layers. The most visible from the surface was a solid layer of black CNT armor, covered with several ceramic/alloy plates that offered additional protection and housed the systems responsible for the armor's more exotic functions, such as the energy shield. Most Spartans limited the amount of plates on the armor to reduce weight and maximize mobility and flexibility.

Spartan Tanaka's armor featured plates covering the entirety of her lower legs, her kneecaps, and half of her upper legs ending 15cm from her codpiece. There were two armor plates covering the sides of her lower torso, separated by a narrower plate that started just above the codpiece, went up between the side plates, and spread out in a heart shape that ended 2cm below her shoulders, which featured plates shaped like small pauldrons. Emblazoned on the heart shape was a stylized raptor with spread wings. The raptor was blood red in color, a contrast to the armor plates, which were a dark blue. Her back was likewise thoroughly covered.

"I chose the design I felt would best combine practicality with inspirational aesthetics, boss," Tanaka replied.

"I see. And the visual resemblance to a certain fictional superheroine, most popular in the outer colonies, is entirely coincidental," Locke said, deadpan.

"Yes, boss. Complete coincidence," Tanaka responded, equally deadpan.

Locke looked back down at the file detailing her armor. "Well you've certainly put the additional weight to good use. Says here you have an energy shield 200% more powerful than standard and...'limited hard light projection'?"

"Yes, boss. I can project a vertical wall of hard-light in front of me for about 30 seconds before I need to let it recharge, which takes about 5 minutes. It's not invincible, but it would take several direct hits from a heavy weapon to break it," Tanaka explained.

"Mhmm," Locke observed. "Big on armor, are you?"

"What can I say, boss? I feel naked without some protection," Tanaka joked. Locke was surprised. Maybe he was having a positive impression after all. Or maybe she was just screwing with him some more.

"Naturally. Says here you also removed the built in maneuvering jets. You won't have the emergency thrusters or limited hovering that lighter suits are capable of."

"No, sir," she replied. "I don't like to avoid my enemies. I walk straight toward them. _They_ run from _me_."

Locke raised his eyebrow. Tanaka was, of course, speaking metaphorically. No soldier that literally walked into walls of fire would live long enough to become a Spartan IV. He wasn't sure if her attitude was cockiness or sheer pants-crapping insanity. If it was the latter, he might actually be able to use her.

Tanaka certainly had the build of a human tank. Spartan IVs were all exceptionally tall, a benefit of the augmentations, but Tanaka was easily over 2 meters, a full 7 feet 2 inches in armor if Locke had to guess. Her build was one he would politely describe as that of a body-builder or a linebacker. He definitely had to watch how, where, and if he should piss her off.

"Well, you've certainly picked the right weapon for your mindset," Locke stated. "You're Squad Automatic Weapon can fire M118 FMJ-AP rounds at 920 rounds per minute from a 128 round drum magazine. More than enough to send most bad guys running for the hills."

Tanaka grunted in response, a smile tugging at her lips.

Locke glanced back at his compad, and decided he had seen enough.

"I'm confident you'll do the Spartans proud. Report to briefing room 3A on deck 48 at 0600 tomorrow. I'll brief you on our mission there. Dismissed, Spartan."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Squadmate Number 2, Olympia Vale, entered with a much more relaxed, albeit still professional, stride than Tanaka had. She and Locke exchanged salutes, hers being a genuine show of respect rather than a gesture of defiance. Locke felt she would be much easier to deal with than Tanaka had been, and internally sighed in relief.

Vale was shorter than Tanaka, clocking in at 1.8m, or about 6 foot 10 inches. Her build was that of a runner or swimmer. Being a Spartan, however, she was still covered in augmented muscle. Locke had no doubt she could lift a Hog SUV over her head if the mood struck.

After the introductions, Locke handed her his spare compad, already opened to a specific document.

"Tell me what this is, if you would," he said.

Vale took the pad and her eyes widened in surprise.

"It's a piece of Sangheili poetry. Specifically, it's an epic poem about Fal 'Chavamee. He was the first Arbiter to be declared a traitor to the Covenant. Before him the title 'Arbiter' could only be claimed by a Sangheili noble who had united at least 10 clans under his banner. With his fall from grace, the Covenant religious leadership, the San 'Shyuum species, declared the title 'Arbiter' to be one of shame. An Arbiter's only chance at reclaiming his lost honor was to die in glorious battle as soon as possible. Roughly translated, the text begins, 'This is the song of the villain Fal 'Chavamee, traitor to the Covenant and defiler of the Great Journey-'" Vale explained, before Locke interrupted her.

"Thank you, Vale, that's enough," Locke said, taking back the compad. "You know, that text was in an obscure Sangheili dialect few people even know about."

"Yes, sir. I've kept up to date on all available information about the Sangheili," Vale said proudly.

"Clearly," Locke replied, feeling ambivalent about her enthusiasm. He was fluent in several Sangheili dialects himself from his days as a direct ONI agent. However, his purpose in studying them was to better understand his enemy; he had read _The Art of War_. Vale, on the other hand, seemed a bit more optimistic than he.

"Tell me, Vale, do you believe long term peace is possible with the Sangheili?" Locke asked.

"Of course, sir," she responded immediately. "The Sangheili are people, like any other sapient species. They committed horrible crimes during the Human-Covenant War, sure, but they only did so because they were misled. Their San 'Shyuum prophets saw humanity as a threat to their control of the Covenant and so declared them abominations before the Forerunner's and invented stories of humans desecrating sacred Forerunner religious sites. Now that most Sangheili know the truth, and the San 'Shyuum have been removed from power following the Great Schism, peace is entirely possible, even probable. The Arbiter himself is a strong advocate for peace with humanity, and-"

"I am well aware of the arguments for peace, and the excuses people have made to justify the Sangheili atrocities," Locke interrupted, struggling to hold his anger in check.

Vale paled a bit, but refused to lose eye contact. Clearly, she would not be shaken from her delusions by mere words. Locke decided to move on.

"I find your armor design interesting," he said. Said armor contained far fewer plates than on Tanaka's suit, Vale clearly valuing speed and maneuverability over sheer damage resistance. Most interesting, though, was the design of the plates themselves. Rather than the flat, bulky plates of Tanaka's suit, Vale's were bulbous, possessing curves that resembled the organic appearance of Sangheili equipment. Even the armor's color, a deep burgundy, resembled the colors now worn by the Arbiter's forces.

"Yes, sir, I find Sangheili aesthetics fascinating," she replied, not bothering to deny the inspiration.

Locke frowned. It was well known that Olympia Vale was on the fast track to becoming an official diplomatic envoy to the Sangheili once her time in the Spartan IV program was up. In fact, it was rumored that the only reason she was a Spartan at all was because the Sangheili respected military proficiency above all else, and the Arbiter's followers had developed a strong veneration for the human supersoldiers. That was not to say she was incapable. Her performance as a marine showed that she more than earned her augmentations. Her mindset did bother Locke, however.

"I'm going to be blunt with you, Vale," he said. "I'm questioning whether a person with such...optimistic ideas about the galaxy can handle the type of combat that will be demanded of a Spartan IV."

Vale's face immediately turned to stone, her eyes taking on an intensity that took Locke almost completely off guard. "You don't have to question my willingness to get my hands bloody, sir. I lost family during the Human-Covenant War. I may hope for peace, but I know what happens when atrocities go unanswered. Point me to an enemy, sir, and I'll make them wish they had never even heard of humanity before filling their guts with lead and letting them drown in their own blood!"

_She's going to fit right in on Sanghelios_ , Locke thought to himself. He would have to be careful what information he allowed her access to, but handled properly she would be a powerful asset.

He looked back at his compad. "Says here that you have become exceptionally proficient at using the built in maneuvering jets," he said.

"Yes sir," Vale responded, returning to her more restrained appearance. "I've discovered that if I keep the rear thrusters going at a certain level I can increase my top speed greatly. It takes careful footwork, I've gotten good use out of my sprinting experience, but I've been clocked at going 80km per hour," she said with considerable pride. Locke thought she had every right to be proud. Such speed would put her on par with 087, Blue Team's speedster. "I've even managed to achieve a brief period of flight, crossing 10 meters without touching the ground," she concluded.

He thanked her for her time, told her where and when the mission briefing would be, and dismissed her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Last but not least, Squadmate Number 3, Edward Buck. If any of his new subordinates was a genuine threat to his mission, it was this one.

Buck and Locke traded salutes, but also followed it up with a handshake. The slightly shorter career soldier immediately understood the challenge of strength, and returned Locke's vice grip with one of his own. Strong as he was, Buck was the first to show pain on his face, and thus lost the challenge. He laughed and shook his head.

"Strong SOB, aren't ya?" he asked Locke.

"Damn right," he responded. They took their places on their respective sides of Locke's desk.

"So, Buck, went from an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper to a Spartan. What's the matter, got a problem with self-loathing?" Locke asked, gesturing to the ODST tattoo still visible on Buck's forearm. Locke was referring to the long standing, bitter, and largely one-sided rivalry between the ODSTs and the Spartans. It had started when ONI had revealed the existence of the Spartan IIs in a desperate bid to salvage plummeting national morale as the Covenant glassed colony after colony. Prior to this the ODSTs had been considered the best of the best, the ultimate human soldiers. To have these faceless supersoldiers steal their thunder was unbearable for them. Combine that with the fact that a lot of funding that would otherwise have gone to the ODSTs was being channeled into supplying and supporting the Spartans, and a rather serious inter-service rivalry was born. Not that the Spartan IIs were aware of this. They were too busy winning the war and not having personalities of their own. The enmity toward Spartans had, unfortunately, continued into the Spartan IV program. Thus it was odd to find an ODST willingly joining the hated enemy of his old unit.

"Yeah, I never gave a crap about any of that 'I hate Spartans, they suck dicks' spiel that a lot of my brothers spouted all the time," Buck replied in a casual tone of voice. "Way I see it, anyone that fights alongside me is my brother. Or sister."

"Huh," Locke replied, "Way I hear it, that attitude disappears pretty quick when talking about ONI."

Buck didn't even flinch. "Only the asshole ones. Just because they're my brothers don't mean some of them aren't bad to the core. And some of them need to be taken down. You know, the kind of domestic enemies we all swore to fight," Buck said, looking directly into Locke's eyes.

"Really. Seems like a strange perspective for someone who married an ONI agent," Locke said, referring to Buck's wife, Veronica Dare.

Buck's eyes went colder, but again, he didn't flinch. "I said there were exceptions, didn't I? Anyway, while she doesn't tell me stuff I ain't supposed to hear, I pick up enough to have more reasons than most to think ill of the Office of Naval Intelligence."

"Right. Strange, though, that she decided not to take your last name. Little disagreement there?" Locke dug.

"Veronica lost her family in the war. All of it. She couldn't even save any of their stuff 'cause the Covenant glassed her homeworld. Her name's all she's got left of 'em, and I wasn't about to take that away from her," he replied, his voice completely even. "And with all due respect, sir, if you want to get under my skin, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that."

Locke nodded. Buck definitely didn't trust him, didn't like him, and probably never would. With his years of combat experience and personal connection to ONI, he could be a major problem if he decided to be. Still, Locke was stuck with him. He decided to move onto more productive territory.

"I see from your file you designed your armor to resemble ODST gear. The bulky chest piece looks the same, the combat knife is mounted on the shoulder like an ODSTs, hell, your helmet's practically a carbon copy from a visual standpoint," Locke observed.

"That's right," Buck said, silently agreeing to move to a topic that wouldn't make the air spontaneously combust from sheer tension. "I decided there was no point in trying to knock down bullcrap walls if I wasn't going to go all the way with it. Of course, that don't mean I wasn't about to take advantage of the bells and whistles Spartan armor has to offer."

Locke looked back at his compad. "Ah, yes, the active-cloaking device."

"Damn right," Buck enthused. "Can't tell ya how many nightmares cloaked Sangheli gave me during the war. Figured it was time for a little payback. Cloak's not perfect, though. Can't move too quick or the whole 'light-bending' effect is ruined. Plus the thing is murder on power. Keep it on too long or use it too much and I risk burning out the circuitry, and that is _not_ something I'm keen on happening in the field."

Locke nodded again, being familiar with the limitations of human stealth technology. Combined with his suppressed submachine gun, a holdover from his days as an ODST, the active cloak made Buck a formidable stealth fighter.

Figuring enough was enough, Locke informed Buck of the coming briefing, and dismissed him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Locke's compad chirped, indicating a new message. He picked it up and discovered an update from the quartermaster saying that Locke's own custom armor was finished being upgraded. Good.

Locke's armor differed from that of most any other Spartan IV. Like other examples of MJOLNIR, his had the visible layer of black CNT armor covered in plates. Unlike other examples, the plates on his armor were made of a unique material. They were not as durable as the plates in, say, Tanaka's armor, but they were far more flexible and weighed significantly less. This allowed for more coverage without sacrificing speed and mobility. Also unlike standard MJOLNIR, the strength amplifying functionality of his suit was far beyond what most Spartan IVs had access to. While wearing it, Locke should be able to overpower even a mighty Spartan II. His maneuvering thrusters were also above standard; while they wouldn't give him Vale's maneuverability, they would still allow him to move in ways a Spartan II could not. ONI had pulled a lot of strings to get him all of this. When it came time to confront Blue Team, Locke would have some surprises for them.

If you did not factor in external equipment, the Spartan IIs were superior in every way to the Spartan IVs. The Spartan IIs biochemical, genetic, and cybernetic augmentations were superior to the Spartan IVs comparatively stripped down upgrades; they were also far more expensive and required a much narrower set of genetic parameters for the candidate, which was why the Spartan IIs augments weren't used anymore. Not that that would help Locke in this mission. Also not helping Locke was the matter of training. The Spartan IIs had been conscripted at age 6, trained to be soldiers until they received their augmentations at age 14, and sent out to fight for humanity ever since. Their entire lives had been devoted to refining the art of spec ops combat. Any doubt or hesitance had been burned away from them decades ago. The Spartan IVs, on the other hand, were recruited from the various branches of the UNSC military. They had relatively normal lives, and thus all of the distractions, uncertainties, and emotional baggage that went along with being human. Looking only at the soldiers themselves, Locke's squad was thoroughly outmatched.

However, Locke did have a number of advantages. Blue Team was still using the MJOLNIR Mark VI armor system first designed nearly 6 years ago. The reason for this was because the Mark VI was designed specifically to be used by soldiers with Spartan II augmentations. Anyone else, even a Spartan IV, that tried to wear one would quickly break every bone in their body as the suit reacted faster to their muscle impulses than they could control. Too much force, too much speed. Any upgraded armor would only ever be used by one of these 4 survivors, and that just wasn't cost effective enough for the increasingly cash-strapped UEG. The Mark VIII had been designed specifically for the Spartan IVs and as such had been built to make up for their inferior augmentations. Each suit had also been tailor made to fit the fighting skills of its user while Blue Teams' armor, 058's optical gear excepted, was completely uniform. The Spartan IIs' armor did not have maneuvering jets, hard-light projection, or active-cloaking tech built in. Their energy shields were also weaker than those worn by Locke's squad and the armor would require more regular maintenance. Blue Team was still stronger, faster, tougher, and had superior reflexes, but Fireteam Osiris would have more tricks.

Also of note was the fact that all of the members of Blue Team used outdated weaponry. 058's sniper rifle had been obsolete for years; it possessed a 4 round magazine as opposed to the Series 5's 8 and it's rate of fire was lower. 087's shotgun was an older model; it could only hold 8 rounds at once compared to the newer model's 16, had a shorter effective range, and was pump-action compared to the now-standard semi-automatic fire. 104's DMR was inferior to Locke's own BR-55; it had shorter range and lower stopping power as well as being locked into single-shot semi automatic fire, compared to the BR-55's burst fire capability. In fact the DMR was being phased out of regular use when the Human-Covenant War began 33 years before. Finally, 117's MA5C assault rifle was inferior to the current MA5D model in both firepower and accuracy. The only explanation Locke could imagine for why the Spartan IIs would stick to inferior weapons was familiarity. It was not uncommon for soldiers to become so attached to their main weapon that they resist upgrading, after all. Locke had already made sure that his squad would use state-of-the-art weaponry. They would need the advantage.

Locke looked back at the image of his own armor. Like his squadmates, he had designed its appearance himself. It was primarily a dark blue, nearly black, with some areas being a lighter gray. It was a color scheme well-suited to night time operation. Following the stealth theme, his helmet featured an unusually small faceplate, covering only the area around his eyes. It gave the appearance of someone wearing a balaclava or a ninja mask. Not that it would obscure his vision; the camera system and internally projected heads-up-display would give him an unobstructed view of the battlefield. Most importantly, on one of the gray portions was emblazoned a very particular symbol: a circle containing a pyramidal shape, which itself contained a black circle on a white background. The all-seeing eye of ONI. If everyone else would never let him forget where he came from, he would turn it into a mark of pride.

Locke closed down his compad and leaned back in his seat. This would be one hell of a mission. But he could do it. He would have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, more deviations from canon here. I'm trying to expand and explore each of the characters in ways I feel the game should have. However, I am still pretty new at this, so please, tell me if I screw up.
> 
> Note: I hope I'm communicating my idea of Locke's personality effectively. The man is not necessarily a natural leader. He started out this fic as a lone wolf. He commanded people as an ONI agent, but I figure he could rely on the intimidation factor of ONI to maintain discipline back then. Such will not be the case with Fireteam Osiris. He knows how to get people to obey him, but he doesn't know how to inspire them. Also, he's kind of an asshole.
> 
> Note: The whole custom armor thing is probably the biggest deviation from the hard military/sci fi feel that the original Halo novels established. I just couldn't help myself. After seeing the unique visual design of the Spartans' armor in Halo 5 proper I started imagining the ways custom designs could reflect the characters' personalities and felt it would be great stuff from a storytelling standpoint. I'll try to keep the strains on suspension of disbelief to a minimum, I promise.
> 
> Note: Linda developing a spy ring when she was 5 is canon according to the Halo wiki. I figured continuing that idea here would help flesh out her character, as well as explain how Blue Team manages to stay hidden as long as they will in this fic.
> 
> Note: If you don't know why I had Locke say "Sweet Christmas," just ask the nearest available Marvel Comics fanboy. He should be able to fill you in :)
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"You wanna run that one by me again, boss?" Tanaka asked.

She was not the only member of the newly formed Fireteam Osiris that wanted Locke to explain himself. As Locke stood at the front of the briefing room and looked at his squadmates, all sitting in a row in front of him, he wondered if squad leaders always felt this outnumbered.

"Our mission," he reiterated, "is to pursue, subdue, and return the Spartan II fireteam designated 'Blue Team' to UNSC custody. Blue Team has gone AWOL and needs to be brought back into the fold."

"Excuse me," Buck objected, "but how exactly did Blue Team 'go AWOL'? What, did they check into some colony's red light district and not come out in the mornin'? I mean, these are the _Spartan IIs_ we're talkin' about here, the friggin' _Master Chief_! Are you tellin' me-"

"I am telling you, Spartan Buck, that our mission is rather complicated. If you would let me continue, I will explain how." Locke interrupted. "Is that acceptable to you, Spartan Buck?"

Buck crossed his arms, but remained silent.

Locke took a moment to compose himself. This was the most critical point. He needed to convince the other members of his squad that Blue Team had gone rogue and needed to be brought in. In fact, Locke himself knewthat Blue Team _had_ indeed gone rogue and _did_ indeed need to be brought in. Halsey couldn't handle the Guardians and would only make things worse. ONI Command needed her out of the way if it was going to effectively deal with this threat. Still, the exact details of who was who and what was what couldn't be discussed with these soldiers. He resumed his speech in a loud, authoritative tone.

"Several days ago Blue Team rescued this woman," Locke pressed a button on his compad, causing the wall behind him to change to an image of a woman with graying hair, "Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey, from Covenant custody. Since then they have not returned to base, nor have they responded to attempts to communicate with them. We believe that Halsey has convinced Blue Team that she was on a deep cover mission and that they now need to help her accomplish her objectives."

"Why would they believe that?" Vale asked, confused.

"Because they have a history with her. Dr. Halsey was a member of ONI and the scientist foremost responsible for the Spartan II program. She developed the augmentations, perfected the faulty MJOLNIR armor system into the MJOLNIR Mark IV that the Spartans wore for the majority of the Human-Covenant War, and has provided them with priceless intelligence at numerous points over the years." Here Locke pressed his compad, causing a series of photos, taken at various points during the War, to be displayed on the wall behind him. They showed Dr. Halsey interacting with the Spartan IIs.

"Blue Team trusts Halsey. Trusts her enough to believe that any attempt to interfere with them would jeopardize whatever mission Halsey has convinced them she is on. That trust, however, is misplaced. Have you all been briefed on the alien civilization known as the 'Forerunners'?" Locke asked.

They all nodded. Buck spoke up, saying, "I was on the Ark. I saw what kind of tech the Forerunners were capable of producing."

"The Ark" had been a Forerunner space station discovered toward the end of the War. It was the manufacturing site and control center for the "Halo Array," a series of superweapons capable of killing all sapient life in the galaxy in one shot. The Prophet of Truth, the last San 'Shyuum to hang onto power toward the end of the Covenant civil war, made his last stand on the Ark. He attempted to activate it, believing the Halo Array was the means by which he would initiate the "Great Journey" prophesied in the Covenant religious texts; more importantly to him, it was also the way he believed he would ascend to godhood. Only a last minute alliance of humans and the Arbiter's Sangheili, as well as the personal intervention of the Master Chief himself, had stopped that madman and destroyed the Ark once and for all.

"Well this is another example of that tech," Locke said, using his compad to display a still image from the footage of the Guardian attack on Hadley's Hope. "This, is a Guardian. Near as we can tell, the Forerunners buried dozens of these things on planets across the galaxy millenia ago. Their reasons for doing so remain, as of this moment, unknown. What is known, is that they have the potential to be the greatest threat humanity has faced since the Covenant."

Locke returned to the topic of the Spartan's "mother." "Halsey has always been an egotist. She believes that she and she alone knows what needs to be done to save humanity. It's possible she believes she can control these Guardians. That is a chance we cannot afford to take. We need to find Blue Team, subdue them, and stop Halsey from doing whatever it is she thinks she needs to do."

Tanaka looked unconvinced. Vale looked concerned, but determined to do her duty. Buck didn't look like he was buying it for a minute.

Here Locke grew serious. He pressed his compad again, displaying the crater and devastated landscape of Conrad's Point immediately following the Guardian's activation. He had been on-site and had gotten some good shots of ground zero.

"I am not ordering you people to burn down an orphanage, here. Done right, at the end of this mission Halsey is stopped, Blue Team is returned to active duty, everyone who isn't a war criminal gets to go home happy, and we get to save the goddamn galaxy. I am _not_ asking you to like me. I'm asking you to help me stop _this_ " he pointed to the image of destruction, "from happening to colonies across the galaxy. Copy?"

Tanaka agreed, saying, "Oorah, boss."

Vale said, "Yes sir!"

Buck simply nodded. The former ODST still looked like he didn't trust Locke as far as he could throw the _Infinity_ , but he at least looked like he would follow orders. Good enough.

"How are we supposed to subdue them?" Tanaka asked.

"With these." The photo of Conrad's point was replaced by a diagram of a small, half-circle shaped electronic device. "This," Locke explained, "is a neural inhibitor collar. It attaches to the data slot in the back of the MJOLNIR Mark VI helmet. From there it directly connects to the neural interface implanted at the base of the Spartan's skull and prevents any voluntary muscle signals from passing into the spinal cord. It won't stop their hearts beating or their lungs breathing, but it will keep them immobilized so we can have them transported home."

"And how are we supposed to get that close? Ask politely? And won't their energy shields block those collars?" Buck asked.

"That, Fireteam Osiris, is where we'll have to get clever," Locke responded. His squadmates grimaced.

"Hopefully we'll be able to spring on them when they're not suited up, but if not...well, we're Spartans. We don't get the easy assignments. I've already worked out several strategies that should enable us to attach the collars properly and I want each of you to come up with your own ideas."

"My sidearm should help down their shields. At least, as a last resort," Vale offered. She was referring to the weapon she carried in place of the standard issue M6H pistol, specifically the weapon commonly known as the "plasma pistol." It had been the primary sidearm of the Covenant during the War and it was thoroughly against regulation for Vale to carry it into the field. Of course, noone had bothered to point that out to her; being spec ops had its perks. The particular function she was referring to was the plasma pistol's ability to fire an overcharged shot if one held down the activation button for too long. Due to the nature of the field that kept the plasma in one focused projectile, the charged shot caused a jolt upon impact that would down nearly any personal energy shield in one strike. Unfortunately, it would also ruin the pistol after repeated uses and if someone tried to overcharge any weapon with more power than the plasma pistol, said weapon would simply explode. These facts relegated the overcharge "function" mostly to desperate last stands. Locke thanked Vale for the offer.

Locke concluded, "The UNSC's top researchers are currently studying all of the data and Forerunner relics we have to figure out where Halsey will activate the next one. Until then, we prepare."

Buck, however, was not done. "What about the Guardians? Someone's gotta deal with the ones Halsey supposedly woke up already, right?"

"Don't worry about the Guardians," Locke stated confidently, "the fleet will have something special in store for them."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You'll forgive me if I ask you to elaborate on that statement, Major," Captain Thomas Lasky said. He was really starting to dislike this woman, even beyond her association with ONI.

Major Caroline Ackerson smiled. Lasky felt a sudden need to shower. "We have a surprise for the next so-called 'Guardian'. The Office of Naval Intelligence has had its top researchers working with data and relics recovered from Requiem before its regrettable destruction and they have found a way to remotely access Forerunner computer systems. Allow our technicians to use the _Infinity_ 's electronic warfare suite when it encounters a Guardian and we'll have it disabled and ready for a kill shot before it even launches an attack."

Lasky arched an eyebrow. "You're expecting me to believe a Forerunner superweapon can be disabled remotely?"

His skepticism was, admittedly, based primarily upon his background in naval warfare. The idea that a simple computer program could be capable of disabling an enemy ship remotely had never been realistic or even possible. This was because no civilization capable of building a warship dangerous enough to threaten anyone would be stupid enough to make critical ship functions remotely accessible. Engines, weapon systems, life support, etc., had always been controlled by exclusively-internally accessible systems. Even the _Infinity_ itself relied upon hardline communication for the vast majority of its functions. The UNSC had taken no chances when it came to the potential vulnerabilities of its new flagship.

Again, however, that was his experience with modern naval warfare talking. When it came to ancient alien doomsday weapons, he was completely out of his depth.

"Yes, Captain, that is exactly what I expect you to believe," Ackerson continued, still wearing that smug, greasy smile. "High Command is in agreement with us on this one. As soon as we locate the probable location of the next appearance by a Guardian, the _Infinity_ will jump there and prepare to destroy it with the aid of ONI's EW program. Once the thing is blown to bits, we'll broadcast the footage to every corner of occupied space. It'll be glorious."

_Ah, now I understand_ , Lasky thought. This was all about PR. He supposed it made sense. After all, national morale was essentially the reason why the UNSC _Infinity_ was built in the first place.

The _Infinity_ had originally been designed as a sort of space-born "Noah's Ark"-a final refuge for the only survivors of the human race should the Covenant succeed in overrunning all UEG territories. Once the War ended and the UEG was still..well... _alive,_ many wanted to scrap the project altogether. After all, they argued, one could manufacture an entire fleet for the cost of the 5.7 kilometer-long super-dreadnaught.

The dissenters had been outvoted because of one main argument: humanity needed a symbol. Throughout the entire Human-Covenant War the UNSC had been thoroughly outclassed in naval warfare. The Covenant fleet was vastly more advanced in everything from weapons systems to slipspace drives. The UNSC only really won when they outnumbered the Covenant 3-to-1, and even then the losses were heavy. No matter how many battles the marines and the Spartans won on the ground, the enemy could always pull back into space and glass the assaulted planet from a distance. In fact, they now knew that the only reason the Covenant ever landed at all was to recover Forerunner relics buried beneath the surface. Apparently the Forerunners had buried something sacred-looking on every rock in existence, because they seemed to pop up everywhere humanity went these days. Or maybe it was Fate or something, what did he know.

The point was, humanity needed something to prove that the days of it being outclassed in naval warfare was over. The people needed something visible, something _real_ , to point to and feel like they would no longer have to live in fear. The Spartan IIs had filled that role during the War. ONI propaganda had played them up like the second-coming of Christ, messianic figures that were turning the tide against the Covenant juggernaut. The UNSC _Infinity_ would fill that role now that the War was over. It would be the shining light, the shout telling all the alien races of the galaxy that humanity was now a major player.

Given how perilously close to collapse humanity's fighting spirit had been even after the War ended, Lasky couldn't help but agree that desperate measures were called for. After 30 years losing a war of extermination the human race as a whole had been thoroughly traumatized, and that trauma didn't just go away. If nothing else, the millions upon millions of refugees crowding planets from Mars to the Outer Colonies served as constant reminders of how close every human being alive had come to a violent death. Humanity's spirit was in danger of breaking, and if it did it wouldn't matter how many ships or supersoldiers the UNSC had at its disposal.

Thus it made sense that ONI Section II, the propaganda division of the UNSC's intelligence branch, wanted to set up the ultimate exhibition match. Have _Infinity_ beat up a weapon built by the very race that the Covenant worshiped as gods. National morale would spike through the roof.

Still, he had never trusted ONI, and something about this woman's attitude struck him as overconfident.

Ackerson obviously picked up on his skepticism. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter. The Joint Chiefs are in agreement. The new EW technology will be used on a Guardian, launched from the UNSC _Infinity._ We expect your full cooperation, Captain Lasky."

Thomas Lasky sighed. "I hope for all our sakes that you're right, Major."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ain't that a beautiful sight?" Buck asked the other members of Fireteam Osiris.

He was referring to a holographic image of the UNSC _Infinity_ that was projected over the data console in the equipment room. The image was displayed whenever any ship-board system was idle, making it the official UNSC screensaver. Fireteam Osiris had just finished a lengthy series of drills designed to get them accustomed to working with each other in a battlefield situation. Basically, they were practicing for when they would have to fight Blue Team. Every time Locke thought about it directly it didn't seem real. How the hell had he ever wound up in this situation?

"I mean, that has got to be the prettiest damn ship in space!" Buck continued. "Every time I see it I have to check and make sure I haven't made a dent in my codpiece."

Vale chocked on her water bottle. "GAHK-, really, Buck?" she said an offended tone, although she was slightly undermined by the smile on her face.

"What?" Buck asked in a mock-defensive tone. "I'm just tellin' the truth! I mean, look at that thing! 6 kilometers long, equipped with the strongest energy shield ever built by mortal hands, and lugging around the biggest MAC gun in history! Damn thing is a death machine!"

The UNSC _Infinity_ was equipped with a Super Magnetic Accelerator Canon, or Super MAC, a weapon that propelled 3,000 ton slugs of ferric tungsten at 4% the speed of light, or 12,000 kilometers per second. Given the tens of thousands of kilometers involved in space combat, as well as the high velocity of starships in a vacuum, any MAC gun or Super MAC gun would still require advanced computer programs or a ship-board AI to properly aim. The Super MAC made up for this limitation by being able to destroy nearly any ship save a Covenant Super Carrier in one shot. The only real downside was that it took an ungodly amount of time to recharge the magnetic coils responsible for propelling the metallic slug, necessitating the installation of 2 smaller MAC guns for backup. The Super MAC was a weapon that had previously only been seen on Orbital Defense Platforms powered by their own planetside reactor complexes. It was a sign of how far human war technology had come that it could now be mounted on a ship and not have it overload the reactor every time it fired.

"Even ignoring that, the thing has hangars so big it actually carries frigates inside it." Buck continued to enthuse. "FRIGATES! Each of which has its own wing of Broadsword fighter/bombers. It's a carrier so big it launches other, smaller carriers! I feel sorry for any SOB dumb enough to get in the way of that monster."

Locke had to admit, he shared Buck's confidence. The _Infinity_ was a testament to human ingenuity and military potential. Every time he saw it in person he felt a swell of pride.

Too bad he couldn't just threaten the Spartan IIs with it. Maybe then they wouldn't even have to fight.

_Ah, to dream_ , Locke smiled to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Well, this is new,_ the Master Chief thought as he climbed out of the tanning bed.

Dr. Halsey, with the assistance of Fred, had built said device out of UV lamps intended to supply pilots with Vitamin-D on extended voyages. Halsey had insisted on its necessity, saying that the unnaturally pale skin tone shared by all 4 Spartans would make it impossible to blend in when they reached Meridian. And they needed to blend in.

Without access to official technology the group of renegade Spartans would be unable to simply scan the planet from orbit, as had been the Chief's original suggestion. Halsey was able to locate its approximate location, conveniently within 50km of Meridian's main settlement, "Meridian Station," but to narrow it down they would have to scan up close. Lacking official credentials, this meant going undercover.

The Master Chief and the rest of Blue Team had gone undercover before. Towards the beginning of their career their primary adversaries had been members of the Insurrection, a loosely affiliated group of rebels spread throughout the Outer Colonies. However, the missions that required the type of open infiltration that necessitated blending in had all been rather brief. They had only needed to blend in for hours, a day at most. And it had been a long time since they had even needed to do that, with their primary foe becoming the alien Covenant.

"There, like you spent a week at the beach," Dr. Halsey said approvingly. She was joking, of course. Each Spartan had deliberately worn an undershirt and pants in order to acquire the "farmer's tan" common to working class people across the galaxy.

John just grunted in response. He was looking at himself in the mirror. It felt odd, to look like what most would deem "normal." He was so used to being in his armor nearly all the time that the idea of going without it for an extended period was almost nerve wracking. He supposed he would have to take comfort in the fact that they would be smuggling their gear to the surface in crates labeled as mining equipment.

"Time to receive our new identities, everyone. Dibs on 'Preston Cole'," Fred joked from the door to the cargo compartment that had been re-purposed into a makeshift tanning salon. He, like John, Kelly, and Linda, had a fresh tan.

Dr. Halsey chuckled obligingly before following him into the main compartment. John took another moment to examine himself in the mirror, frowning but unable to come to any conclusions. He shook his head and moved to join everyone else.

They sat in the "multipurpose area." It was the room immediately behind the cockpit that served nearly every function the human crew would require. Towards the left side of the cockpit door were cabinets containing MREs and various food provisions. To the right was the cooker that would warm those provisions up. Further to the rear were several computer consoles built into the walls for the crew to monitor the various video feeds that the ship and its deployed satellites provided. Immediately behind that were the doors to the cargo compartments, placed on either side of the chamber. The cargo compartments were also where satellites and other devices would be launched from. Behind those was an open area intended for exercises and general movement. Built into the walls of this area were foldout bunks, two embedded in each wall. Finally, at the end of the room was a door that led to the lavatory/shower area, which also contained the water- and waste-reclamation unit. Other than the 2 cargo compartments and the cockpit, this composed the entirety of the inside of the ship. The active-stealth technology was certainly demanding when it came to limiting space.

"I still say we should have tried to contact Lord Hood," Kelly was saying to Dr. Halsey.

Halsey sighed, having had this discussion before. "Yes, well, shockingly I don't have a direct line to the Fleet Admiral at the moment, Kelly," she explained. "I tried to contact him before you rescued me, but given what Linda has helped us pick up on UNSC activity we can safely assume that my transmission was intercepted by ONI. We are, regretfully, on our own."

John sat down on the deployed port-side bottom bunk with Kelly. Fred and Dr. Halsey sat on its starboard-side counterpart. Linda stood up from one of the consoles and walked toward the front of the compartment, preparing to brief them on the coming mission to Meridian. After the revelation of her clandestine activities she had become their unofficial intelligence officer.

"With the assistance of Blue Lead I have produced what I believe is the best plan moving forward," she began. "I've gathered as much intel as I can from the 'net and Meridian's planet-side computer networks. Meridian's 2 sole industries are: the mining and sale of harvested silicates created by the glassing, and the terraforming process intended to render the planet livable. The Liang-Dortmund Company is responsible for both. It is also responsible for all utilities, trade, law enforcement, planetary defense, and infrastructure. In short, they run the planet. I have fabricated work records for all of us that list us as Liang-Dortmund employees, thereby ensuring access at least. Given how understaffed the colony is in general there should be few who want to question our arrival. Of course, I will still be implanting programs to track and intercept any inquiries that might blow our cover. The residents are mostly from other Outer Colonies, so don't expect a lot of support for the UEG or the UNSC."

The Master Chief wondered what type of experience his squad and he were going to have on the surface. For decades they had been hailed as the saviors of humanity. Being considered a potential enemy, and possibly experiencing abuse because of it, would be new to all of them. Still, they were Spartans, and they could adapt to anything.

"The colony is run by an individual calling himself 'Governor Sloan.' At first I couldn't find any detailed records of him. He seemed to simply spring into existence several years ago. After a bit of digging, I discovered why."

Linda activated one of the wall consoles, which promptly displayed a holographic figure of a man wearing what resembled 20th Century miner's clothes, including yellow overalls and a hard-hat with a flashlight on it. "Governor Sloan is an artificial intelligence. A smart AI, if records are to be believed." Linda hesitated, looking uncertainly at the Master Chief. "Also, if records are to be believed...he was put into service 8 years ago."

_8 years_...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"AIs deteriorate after seven, Chief."

The Master Chief paused, but only for a moment.

"Halsey," he said.

"Chief-"

"We need to find Halsey," John said insistently. Cortana had been created by Dr. Halsey, the most brilliant scientific mind the human race had to offer. If anyone knew the solution, it would be her.

"Chief—please-"

"She made you. She can fix you," John said. There was no hint of doubt in his voice.

"I won't recover from rampancy, Chief."

"If we can just get back to Earth and find Halsey, she can fix this," John insisted. Dr. Halsey would fix Cortana. Of course she would. She was as much a mother to the AI as she was to the Spartans. She would have the answer.

He wasn't about to let his friend die. He would get her home. He would get them _both_ home. He would save them both, like he always did.

"Don't...make a girl a promise you can't keep."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Master Chief was suddenly back in the micro-prowler, his excursion into memory over. He found his squadmates and Dr. Halsey looking at him with concern. He carefully avoided showing any sign that he had been in distress, instead pretending he had been deep in thought.

"Why hasn't he been taken offline yet?" he asked.

"I'm...not sure," Linda said. Although her face betrayed nothing, John could tell she was still worried about him. "All records from the past several years were careful to avoid bringing up his age, or even hinting at his being an AI at all. I suspect he is attempting to avoid deletion, although why Liang-Dortmund would go along with it is something I have been unable to determine."

"Most likely a cost-saving measure," Dr. Halsey interjected. She looked as concerned as Linda at first, but apparently decided that everyone needed to move on. John was grateful. "They'll probably keep Sloan in charge until his rampancy directly interferes with profits. It's foolish, but companies like this often prioritize short-term profits over long-term stability."

"Yes, well, whatever the reason, he's still in charge of Meridian," Linda said. "He's essentially the absolute ruler of the place, as far as regulations are concerned. Apparently the UEG has little influence over this colony...perhaps they are also turning a blind eye for the sake of profits?" she said, looking to Halsey. The good doctor smiled in approval.

"Regardless," Linda continued, "I have falsified transfer papers that indicate I am a Liang-Dortmund employee. My cover identity will be 'Natasha Romanov,' a survivor of the glassed colony world Corinthius, and an expert in administrative and network engineering. From what I've gathered from their records, these are the positions that most desperately need filling. While there, I will access the company server to search for any records that could lead us to the location of the Forerunner ruins or the Guardian itself. "

That made sense to the Master Chief. Having someone planted in the colony's headquarters would be invaluable provided the cover didn't get blown. Although, he had to wonder how Linda would function in a corporate working environment. She was always stoic and reserved, even for a Spartan, which for a normal person would categorize her as outright antisocial. Linda seemed to pick up on his unease.

"Allow me to demonstrate," she said, turning around to look towards the cockpit. The Chief noticed her roll her shoulders, stretch slightly, and finally return to standing still at a significantly different posture. She turned back around, and John was confronted by a stranger wearing his sister's face.

"Hello," she said in a rather happy voice. "My name's Natasha Romanov, but please, call me 'Nat'. It's a pleasure to work here at Liang-Dortmund and I intend to make this company proud. I look forward to getting to know all of you over the course of my stay here. I'm sure we'll get along famously." She spoke with a slight smile. A civilian would probably see her as a cheerful but rather subdued worker trying to make a good impression. For those who had known her for years, it was an unprecedented display of emotion and general enthusiasm. Even her accent was different; rather than the "Reach Accent" the Spartan IIs had picked up from their training on that planet, her voice now resembled something a person from an Outer Colony would develop.

"Where in the world did you learn how to do that?" Dr. Halsey asked, seeming annoyed that she kept being caught off guard by one of her Spartans.

"Remember how I said I refined my hacking and social engineering skills?" she asked. Halsey paused, then nodded in understanding. "Social Engineering" referred to the method of breaching electronic security via social interaction. One might, for example, come upon a secure server that one cannot remotely access. Rather than running a program to bypass the server's security, one could simply call up the company that ran it, pretend to be someone who should have access but has lost or forgotten the password, and convince the employee manning the comms to reveal the password themselves. This was but one example. It was an obvious trick, and the sort of thing that security experts had been warning against for centuries, but the average person was still surprisingly vulnerable to rather simple masquerades. Apparently said masquerades had required Linda to develop a bit of acting talent.

Linda continued her briefing, looking at the Master Chief.

"Sir, you will be working as a 'prospector.' Your official job will be to travel into the unsettled glasslands and search for deposits of particularly valuable silicates. For some reason, people last longer than vehicles in the glasslands, so you'll be traveling on foot. You will use one of the portable scanners Dr. Halsey has constructed to search for readings of the Forerunner ruins," Linda said, referring to a set of 3 clunky, jury-rigged devices that Halsey had produced while en route to Meridian. "Your cover identity will be 'Steven Rogers,' a refugee from Reach."

"Reach?" the Master Chief asked.

Linda hesitated. "Yes, sir. Since none of you have any experience with disguising your voices, I felt it was better to cast you as Inner Colonists. Reach just...felt right, I suppose," she said uncomfortably.

John thought for a moment. Finally, he simply said, "It's fitting." Kelly and Fred both agreed. The fall of Reach, and its subsequent glassing at the hands of the Covenant, had affected them all more than they would like to admit. They had trained on that planet from age 6 to age 14. It was the closest thing to a homeworld any of them could really remember. Halsey nodded as well, but with a smile tinged with sadness and...guilt? John couldn't really read her expression and did not have time to dwell on it now. He would have to ask her about it later.

Linda nodded, relieved that he, and the rest of the Spartans, approved. "I have constructed a detailed backstory for your cover identity. Please study it and delete it before we arrive," she said before handing the Master Chief a data cube.

Next up was Fred. "Blue One, you will be a security officer named 'Clint Barton.' Security officers are responsible for, among other things, investigating any signs of human ruins from before the glassing. If anything recognizable is found it is collected and shipped offworld for the "Remembrance Fund," an organization founded by survivors of glassed planets that is responsible for numerous memorials and museums across the UEG. They're subsidized by the UEG senate, so they're able to pay well. You will use your position to access security records and search for anything that might indicate the presence of Forerunner ruins. You will also attempt to use your position to go into the field and use Dr. Halsey's scanner to gather readings directly. Here is your file," she said, handing him a different data cube.

"Got it," Fred said.

Linda moved on to Kelly. "Kelly, you and Dr. Halsey will be going under cover together. Your identities will be 'Carol Danvers' and 'Dr. Janet Pym,' respectively. You are medical technicians who have come to tend to the needs of the people on Meridian. Your primary service will be treating injuries directly related to the high amount of silicate particles found in the air, particularly the condition colloquially called 'rust lung.' Your mission will be to search for any indications of people spotting what could be signs of Forerunner ruins in the medical records and to listen to the stories of your patients. An injured person is more likely to let something slip than a well person. As it would be unwise to leave Dr. Halsey alone," the good doctor 'hmph'-ed at this, "I have assigned Kelly as an escort."

"So basically we're scattering and hoping to get lucky?" Fred asked.

The Master Chief stepped in. "We won't be able to maintain stealth while entering the atmosphere and Meridian is outfitted with air defenses. Also, the scanners will be better able to detect anything the closer they are to the ground. Given the fact that the ruins may well be buried deep beneath the surface, this is the best shot we have," he explained.

"I still don't like splitting up," Fred objected.

"You won't be," Linda said, "I've arranged for you all to be housed in the same complex and I will contact you at a predetermined time daily. We will also all be assigned compads, so we will be able to call each other practically anywhere inside the settlement."

"All right," the Master Chief said, "let's all study our individual profiles and then meet up to work out any issues. We've only got 23 hours before our window to hit Meridian, people. Move out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Meridian Station Space Elevator was the centerpiece of Meridian colony. It was a kilometers-long bundle of carbon nano-tubes stretching from the surface of the desolate world into space, where multiple freighter starships waited to ship its precious resources across human controlled space. It ferried thousands of tons of silicates from the surface to waiting freighters in orbit every day. Sometimes, although far less frequently, it would carry additional equipment and personnnel to the planet on one of its journeys back to the surface. Today was one such day, although no official party had planned it to be.

Blue Team and Dr. Halsey stepped out of an airlock. They were in the portion of the elevator's structure that remained in space even after the elevator's carriage had returned to the surface. It was primarily used for storage, on-loading, and off-loading and as such was fully automated. It was only ever inhabited during regularly scheduled inspections or repair cycles. The Spartans, after securing the area and having Linda access the computer systems to erase any record of their clandestine entry, swiftly removed their MJOLNIR armor suits and placed them in cargo crates found within the station. They attached several biometric locks—equipment that they had taken from _Argent Moon—_ to the crates to ensure noone accessed them. Linda had already fabricated work orders instructing that they be shipped to wherever the new arrivals were stationed. Their weapons also went into crates. None of them were happy about it.

"Feel like I'm going in naked," Fred said, donning the spare overalls they had found stored in storage lockers. The others were now similarly dressed.

"Remember what CPO Mendez said about being unarmed?" the Master Chief asked.

"A Spartan is never unarmed. Their body is the most lethal weapon they have," Blue One, Blue Two, and Blue Three responded as one.

"We'll make it work," the Chief concluded simply.

They moved into the carriage portion of the elevator. It was a large, circular compartment, about 100 meters in diameter and 75 meters high, with the elevator's stalk going straight through the center. Fortunately, the zero gravity made maneuvering their equipment relatively easy. Otherwise, they would have had to spend valuable time locating and using power loaders, potentially delaying the elevator carriage's descent and drawing unneeded attention.

The Master Chief took a moment to activate his compad. Within moments he established contact with the surveillance satellite they had launched from the micro-prowler before setting it on autopilot to station itself behind Meridian's moon. The ship would remain there until they recalled it at the end of their mission. In the meantime, the satellite would grant them increased awareness of the region they would be inhabiting. He deactivated his compad once he had confirmed the connection and stepped into the orbital elevator's carriage.

With everyone on board, Linda released her control over the elevator, and the carriage descended.

"The company employees on the ground should be expecting us," the Master Chief said. "We'll need to separate shortly after arrival. Remember: check in is 1100 tomorrow night." The rest of the Spartans and Dr. Halsey acknowledged his instruction.

The members of Blue Team then used their compads to access the carriage's external cameras. It had no windows, being completely covered in heat- and radiation-shielded metal.

The world of Meridian greeted them. Its primary color was black, granted by the endless fields of dirty glass left behind by the Covenant plasma bombardment. Many parts were effectively invisible to them, the glare from reflected sunlight making it impossible to discern the ground beneath it. Fortunately the ground was uneven enough, and the glassing process inconsistent enough, that such parts were comparatively rare.

Stretches of the surface the size of small continents were covered in enormous, pitch-black clouds. Glass-storms, they were called, named after the fact that any substantial wind propelled millions-upon-millions of tiny particles of razor-sharp glass—silicates—into the air. Anyone caught outside in one of those storms would be shredded in seconds. Not that the danger of airborne silicates ended there. Anywhere outside the partially terraformed Main Settlement required one to wear a rebreather outdoors to prevent the silicates in the air from shredding their lungs. Every building had a large air filtration unit attached to the outside of the hermetically sealed refuge. Even those who lived in the main settlement would eventually develop lung-related illnessses due to the fine particles that the terraforming devices could not quite keep away. The price for living on Meridian was high, regardless of potential profits.

The oceans, rather than blue, were a sickly gray, and looked incapable of supporting any life amenable to human consumption, or even coexistence. What rivers or lakes could be seen were not what one would call fresh water. They looked like the result of puddles on broken asphalt that had been filled with ash from a house fire. Nothing beyond the most rudimentary forms of life could possibly be found in Meridian's aquatic environments.

The only exceptions to the bleak, desolate landscape were the settled areas directly below the elevator, although the best they could offer by way of color was the brown almost-arable dirt and the colors of the buildings and streets below. If one wanted to find natural greenery they would have to look at the houseplants found in offices and domiciles. All foodstuffs were shipped in from off-world as Meridian was incapable of growing any live produce. Only ruin, seeded by fire rained from the sky, could be harvested there.

"People actually live here?" Kelly asked. "Why?"

"A number of reasons," Dr. Halsey somberly responded. "Desperation for employment, the promise of wealth in the booming silicates industry, perhaps even some survivors have returned to help make their old home livable again." Halsey frowned. "Still, I share your...hesitance. Let's try to be done swiftly, yes?"

The elevator began slowing about a kilometer from the ground. Given the hundreds of kilometers per hour it had accelerated to in order to make the journey from orbit to ground swiftly, it needed to begin slowing that early to avoid squashing everything inside to paste on the floor.

When the elevator finally settled the main cargo doors opened and Blue Team got its first groundside view of Meridian: a line of men and women in private security armor pointing assault rifles at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up Blue Team spends time in an environment they have almost no experience in: a human colony that isn't on fire or under direct alien attack! Yet.
> 
> Note: Enough people have asked about this so I suppose I should make an official note. Yes, Blue Team using outdated tech does strain belief. They should be taking advantage of every technological leap in both weapons and armor...from a logical standpoint. From a storytelling standpoint I felt I needed to give Fireteam Osiris a fighting chance and giving them better gear is one of the only ways I could do it. They don't have Blue Team's augmentations or the decades of experience the Spartan IIs can rely on. There's not a lot of tension when the hunter is no threat to the prey, right? I won't be relying on the idea too heavily, so please, just work with me here.
> 
> Note: I'm trying to portray ONI as arrogant to the point of delusion. I think such a mindset is perfectly likely for an organization as twisted as ONI, even if they have access to information that should disprove their ideas. To paraphrase a line from American Beauty: Never underestimate the power of denial.
> 
> Thank for reading.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_We have not hit a snag_ , Linda thought. _Not yet._

"Hands up!" one of the security officers shouted. Linda looked to the Master Chief, who subtly shook his head at her and raised his hands. He was going to play along. Good. Killing them all would have created more problems than it solved.

Linda quickly identified the lead officer, his name plate listing him as Captain Jackson, by the fact that he was wearing a beret instead of a helmet. His armor was significantly cleaner and more polished than his subordinates, indicating that it did not get as much use. It was also more regal, with bits of gold mixed in with the company colors of blue and red that his subordinates wore. Once all members of the party of off-worlders had raised their hands, he ordered 2 of his soldiers to move forward to pat the party down. Jackson did not separate them to do this, instead having each person checked while the other members of the party were still within easy reaching distance. Had she wanted to, Linda could have killed both officers or used them as hostages without their comrades being able to stop her.

Captain Jackson had no problem with this sloppy execution, opting to continue sneering at each of them in turn. He stood with an imperious air, his every movement and facial expression betraying the utter disdain he had for the people he was holding at gunpoint.

_He's vain. Leads from the rear, if not the command center. An incompetent. Views himself as superior to us_ , Linda thought _._ She smiled internally, careful to portray only stunned surprise on her actual face.

"Well, well, what do we have here..." he said, moving slightly closer to Linda and the rest of Blue Team. "Some new arrivals, dropped in out of the blue, barely a few days warning. Awfully suspicious, if you ask me."

Linda moved forward a step, speaking in a tone combining deep fear and wounded pride. "I-I was told I would be reporting for duty for an a-administrative position," she began, pretending to struggle to maintain eye contact. "I-I do not a-appreciate being treated-"

"Well _I_ sure as shit don't appreciate being interrupted, _Miss_!" the leader shouted. He quickly moved to stand about half a meter in front of her and continued shouting. "I have a job to do, and it involves keeping this planet safe! Now I would appreciate it, _Miss_ , if you let me get on with it! Speak up again, and you'll be spending a night in lockup! Clear?!"

Linda nodded, keeping her eyes glued to the floor, and Jackson moved away to begin grilling each of the party members in turn. Good. Now that he had been allowed to dominate and humiliate a white-collar worker, Jackson should be riding high on a power trip. He would skim their IDs and half-listen to their answers, looking for the first thing he could use to attack them. Thus, he would be less observant and easier to manipulate should anything go wrong.

Linda had quickly identified the purpose of their hostile greeting as being simple intimidation. If the local authorities had wanted to arrest them they would have ordered them restrained and brought back to whatever passed for a brig on this colony. If said authorities knew exactly who they were dealing with, they certainly would not have sent a half-dozen poorly trained private security officers and a clown of a "captain" armed with nothing but standard issue assault rifles. If Blue Team was wanted alive they would cooperate to buy time for the UNSC to arrive and take them in to custody; if they were wanted dead, an air strike would be the only sane option Linda could imagine Meridian having access to. Combined with Jackson's demeanor, it hadn't been hard for Linda to realize this was a simple abuse of power by a petty-minded bully. The question was, why did he think he would get away with it? Were such abuses common? Or were the new arrivals acceptable targets?

The rest of her companions didn't have the flair that Linda did, but they knew enough to cooperate and had enough self-restraint not to make Jackson eat his idiotic hat. They answered questions, endured Jackson's shouts, and eventually were ushered into an "office" about the size of 4 phone booths pushed together and forced to fill out paperwork for several hours. The guards never left the entire time, but as everyone had already memorized their new identities that was not a large problem.

After the paperwork, one of the security officers pressed a button on the front wall. Linda and the others got their first view of Governor Sloan as a prerecorded message played, welcoming them to Meridian.

"Greetings!" the holographic miner said enthusiastically in a gruff tone one would imagine coming from such a worker. "Welcome to Meridian, I'm Foreman Sloan, head of mining operations here for the Liang-Dortmund Company. I run all that noisy gear and transport equipment that's gettin' rid of all that glass the terraforming won't quite be able to clear out. In a bit you'll be meeting Administrator Adomar, who'll be your boss for your stay here. Don't worry," he said in a faux-conspiratorial whisper, "he's not as harsh as he looks. The good Mr. Adomar is our leader in this glorious endeavor to bring life back to this lifeless world. A true visionary, and this is his vision..."

The video continued for several minutes, detailing the grand vision of a revitalized Meridian. The mining operations would continue until the level of silicates was reduced enough for the terraforming machines to handle the load. Currently there was only one machine present on the planet, which could be seen as a large, cylindrical complex several dozen kilometers away from Meridian Station itself. The video made sure to give several grand shots of the machine, careful to avoid any angle that might reveal its inner workings to competitors. Said machine provided the majority of the breathable air and performed a number of other tasks to make the settled area livable for the moment. Once the silicate level was low enough, several more terraforming machines would be brought in and the planet's currently toxic environment would be slowly reformed into one resembling Earth's, including forests, plains, viable oceans, etc. The cost of the terraforming would be met by the profits made from selling the mined silicates to other colonies, where they would be used for everything from insulation to health treatments. The process of glass removal should take approximately 10 years, with the terraforming taking an additional 20.

"And once that's done, ah huh, well," the view on the monitor changed from various bits of mining and terraforming equipment to a lush, brightly lit meadow, complete with a running stream and relaxing families. "Life will start again. I look forward to seeing you on the fields, people. Now let's get to work!"

After the video ended they were each given a set of instructions on where and when to appear for work the following day. No mention was made of "Administrator Adomar." They were then told to board a shuttle which would take them to their new domicile in one of the residential districts and unceremoniously shuffled off. Their equipment would be stored in warehouse 3A-42D until such a time as it was required for their work. None of the security officers bothered to examine the crates themselves, let alone their contents, making Linda's efforts to come up with plausible explanations for why they couldn't be opened needless.

As they moved outside, passing the enormous loaders carrying massive containers of silicates to be shipped off-world, Linda waved goodbye to the others. She was careful to only show as much emotion as an ordinary person would after having gone through a humiliating ordeal with a group of strangers. Unlike the others, she would be working in administration, meaning her domicile would be located closer to the city center. She didn't like splitting up, but she was far more comfortable with it than her siblings or Dr. Halsey seemed to be. After all, even when she'd had her own squad, she often found herself operating apart from them.

She was the only true lone wolf on Blue Team.

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Blue Team had been split up for the first time since the Master Chief had returned to active service. He would have to find time to be unhappy about that once everyone was settled into their new roles.

The base of the space elevator was several kilometers away from Meridian Station itself. This allowed the Chief to get a good look at the settlement that would be their new home for the immediate future. Meridian Station was built around the "Administrative Building," which was actually the colony ship _Skyward Hope_ , which had born the first post-glassing settlers to the planet. It had been "beached" and used as an initial shelter by the settlers, later converted to being used for strictly company business. The rest of the settlement was composed of prefabricated structures, the planet itself being unable to support any industry other than silicate exports. The entire city, with a population of over 50,000 people, was composed of prefab units stacked no more than 2 stories tall in a plain grid formation. It was all surrounded by high walls to block the wind and wind turbines to harness renewable power. The 10 story tall _Skyward Hope_ towered over everything. The streets were thankfully paved, but in generally poor upkeep. There were few to no personal vehicles visible as most residents relied upon public transit shuttles. Snaking their way above the streets were power lines, held aloft by plastic telephone poles, which were often covered in graffiti. Trash littered the side of the roadways. All in all, John preferred marine bases.

The Chief, Fred, Kelly, and Dr. Halsey arrived at "Icarus Flats," the housing unit that they would be sleeping in for the foreseeable future. They entered the front door to find a dimly-lit, small lobby area with a plain plastic reception desk and a few poorly maintained chairs. What few people they could see in the building proper glanced at them with mistrust and resentment. Some of the younger ones looked like they might cause trouble. A woman, about 1.5 meters tall with graying hair pulled into a short ponytail, walked up to greet them.

"Name's Evelyn Collins. So, you're the new arrivals?" She asked. She wasn't as aggressive as the security team had been, but her tone and hard stare made it very clear that she was also distrustful of them.

"That's right," John responded. She waited for him to continue. He didn't.

Dr. Halsey stepped in, "Oh, forgive him, he's never been very social. I've known him since he was little and he still barely says anything to me! Please, let us introduce ourselves." Dr. Halsey proceeded to list their cover identities, John as a prospector, Fred as a security man, and Kelly and herself as medical technicians.

"Uh-huh. So why'd you leave the UNSC?" Collins asked. Halsey froze. "It's no use pretending you're not soldiers. Try to slouch all you want, you still walk like someone shoved a steel rod up you asses at birth. Plus, you've got those implants on the backs of your necks," she said, referring to the 4x4cm piece of metal tech that allowed the Spartan's gear to interface directly with their central nervous systems. It was standard issue marine and navy gear as well. "None of you look tired or badly wounded and in my experience you types join for life. So, why'd you quit?"

The Master Chief was about to respond with a lie, the cover story they had come up with back on the micro-prowler, when he unexpectedly thought of why he really had gone rogue. ONI's nefarious modus operandi, the attempt to murder Dr. Halsey...

He must have shown some emotion on his face, because Collins suddenly went from being distrustful to being understanding and sympathetic. "Ah, one of those," she said in an understaning tone. "Don't worry, I know better than to ask too many questions. You wouldn't be the first to get screwed over by the UNSC, believe you me. C'mon, I'll show you about the place."

The lack of a polarized faceplate was really making itself known to the Master Chief. It had worked to his advantage this time, but he would have to be careful to conceal his thoughts and emotions in the future.

Collins gave them what she called "the tour." Icarus Flats was a rectangular building with 2 floors. Each floor was a single, large space filled with small containers, about the length and height of a bunk. This was because each was a sleeping pod meant to contain a human being and what meager objects they managed to possess; it was all the personal space they were afforded. They were stacked in rows, with 4 pods per stack. Those toward the top would have to climb in via a ladder. There was a communal shower/bathroom/laundry area on the first floor and a small recreation area on the second, each separated from the rest of the building by curtains. The small subterranean level contained the climate control equipment and the air filtration unit was mounted on the roof. The building fit 500 people in an amount of space that would fit maybe 2-3 standard houses in an Inner Colony middle class neighborhood. It was also not particularly well cleaned or maintained, the walls and floors showing multiple stains and signs of wear.

The Master Chief noticed the abnormal ethnic diversity present amongst the inhabitants of Icarus Flats. Normally, colonies were founded by a large group of people from a particular part of Earth. Meridian, for example, had originally been a colony from the region historically known as "France," a territory on the European subcontinent. The original settlers had, naturally, been overwhelmingly pale in skin and European in facial structure. In Icarus Flats, however, there was a mix of seemingly every ethnic background Earth had ever produced, from Africans to Asians to Native Americans. For some reason, glassed planets seemed to make for better melting pots than traditional colonies.

"So what colony you from?" Collins asked when she had completed her tour.

"Reach," the Master Chief responded, careful to control his expression this time.

"Ah, that explains it," Collins nodded. "Something about having your planet glassed just seems to make people seek out these terraforming projects. Even if it isn't their own world. Were any of you nearby when it happened?"

John felt a stab of guilt. He remembered being ordered...no...forced to abandon Reach with his siblings and mother still on it. With the Covenant fleet in orbit preparing to glass it and kill everything he had ever been personally close to in this galaxy. He had barely managed to find a way to get back in time to rescue what few survived. The Chief was still careful to control his expression, but no longer knew what to say.

Thankfully, Fred stepped in. "We were fighting on it, actually. Were among the last to make it out. Dragged the Doc here with us. Haven't been able to get rid of her since," he explained. Dr. Halsey snorted at being referred to as such, but nonetheless smiled at her Spartan.

Collins' eyes widened. "That so? Damn. Even I didn't have to go through that." She leaned against the wall before continuing. "I used to live here. On Meridian, I mean. Before the glassing. I came here with the first group that arrived to terraform back in 2553. Somehow, that turned into me being a kind of community leader around here." She nodded to the group before continuing. "I'll spread the word about your history. Haven't seen your records yet, but I've seen your faces. Weren't no lies you told here today. People should be nicer to ya now, Inner Colony background or not."

"Excuse me," Dr. Halsey spoke up. "Did you say 2553? I was under the impression that the first group arrived only 2 years ago."

Collins snorted. "Yeah, I heard of that error. Some kind of bureaucratic mess up, the operation didn't get formally logged until 2556. We were one of the first colony's to get official approval for reconstruction efforts after the end of the War. Trust me. I've been here from the beginning."

"It's just that the state of the planet does not line up with your assertion," Halsey objected. "If mining and terraforming has been going on for as long as you say the planet should be further along in its development. Not livable, certainly, but better than it appears now."

"I don't know what you think you know, ma'am, but we've been hard at work for 5 years to restore Meridian," Collins replied, beginning to get irate. "It's slow going, but we're making progress. Like I said: I've been here from the beginning. We _will_ complete the terraforming. We _will_ restore Meridian." Collins checked herself before she could get more animated. "Excuse me. I have other responsibilities to attend to and I'm sure you all want to get settled. I'll spread the word about you, like I said. See ya," she said, leaving the group to themselves.

"Well this place looks...cosy," Kelly said, careful to keep her voice down. She looked about as uncomfortable at their icy reception as John felt.

"Oh, dear," Dr. Halsey said. "I just realized I may not have prepared you adequately for this mission."

"How so?" the Master Chief asked, eager for details on the situation.

"You have all been given an impression of the Outer Colonies that is not entirely accurate," Halsey said. "You were told what you needed to know to fight the Insurrection, but those details did not encompass the whole of the socioeconomic situation out here. The Outer Colonies have suffered many abuses at the hands of the Inner Colonies; abuses that never made it into your mission briefs or target dossiers. You must be prepared to encounter resentment and some...inconvenient realities."

The Master Chief pondered that. While it was true he likely did not know the complete story, the brutalities that he had witnessed the Insurrection commit all those years before seemed to characterize their movement quite well. If they were amongst barbarians, they would have to be even more on their guard than before.

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Fred opened the door to the security sub-station he had been assigned to, walked up to the Sergeant behind the desk, stood at attention, and saluted. "Sir. Officer Clint Barton, reporting for duty, Sir," he said. Fred had been unsure what protocol was for a private security force and had decided to go with a formal military greeting. Fred's fatigues were clean—well, as clean as he could get them, anyway—and he himself was washed, shaven, and perfectly capable of passing inspection by even the most demanding of drill instructors.

Sergeant Ajit Singh, his superior, simply raised an eyebrow. His expression was of mild amusement. "...as you were, Officer Barton," he said. "And there's no need for such formality around here. We may technically be soldiers, but we're not the Marine Corps. Simple respect is all I require."

Fred tried to conceal his disapproval, but given the widened smile on Sgt. Singh's face he was likely not successful. He mentally cursed the lack of a polarized faceplate. Fred took stock of his new "superior." The man was roughly 1.8 meters tall, or about 5 ft. 10 in. He appeared to be of Indian descent, with light brown skin, brown hair turning gray at the temples, and crow's feet around his eyes. Fred was not as good at reading facial expressions as Kelly, but he estimated that Singh's showed a weary determination and resolve to do his duty. If this reading was correct than Fred would at least be able to respect the man's dedication, if not his lack of professionalism.

"Follow me," Sgt. Singh said, leading Fred behind the front desk and into his office. The office was small, about 4 square meters, with barely enough room for Singh's desk, Singh himself, a filing cabinet, and 2 chairs. His desk had what looked like an ancient desktop computer resting on it, making a strange humming sound that Fred didn't think spoke well of its condition. "I take it from your greeting that you have some military background," Singh said after they had both sat down. "That's good. We could definitely use someone with that experience around here. Tell me, how old are you?"

"49, sir," Fred responded. It was as good a number as any, and he was reasonably certain it was accurate. He didn't remember much from before his time in the Spartan II program and birthdays were not something that were given any significant attention. After his graduation, he had been a bit too busy for anything as frivolous as celebrating an incremental increase in his biological age.

Sgt. Singh sighed. "I'm not getting rid of the 'sir' crap with you, am I?" he asked. Fred did not respond, instead simply looking at him stone-faced. "Hah. I guess I can put up with it, provided you're good enough. What part of the UNSC were you in? And for how long?" Singh asked.

"I was a marine, sir. I was on active duty for 30 years," Fred lied. The legal age of enlistment was 18; Fred had graduated from the Spartan II program at age 14 after being conscripted at age 6 and fought for 33 years since.

His superior simply whistled. "A lifer, huh?" he asked. "So, why'd you quit?"

Fred decided to respond with a half-truth, as he was unaccustomed to lying. Besides, it had seemed to work out rather well for John in Icarus Flats. "One of my brothers was quitting. And Command gave some orders that...well, let's just say I didn't agree with them."

"Ah, one of those," Singh said knowingly. Fred wondered just what type of reputation for treating its soldiers the UNSC had around here, and whether it was created from hearsay or the words of retired troopers. Sgt. Singh continued, "Well I won't ask anymore questions about that. We've all got things in our past we don't want to talk about. I was in the Army myself. 20 years." The UNSC Army was essentially a local peacekeeping force. Unlike the Navy or the Marine Corps., they never left their home systems except in extreme circumstances. They were also generally less well trained and less well equipped than their more federal counterparts. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Barton. We're understaffed, underfunded, and underequipped. Life's hard here on Meridian, and that leads to some rather unfortunate activities on the part of its less disciplined citizens. Domestic abuse, assault, sexual misconduct...we've got it all." Singh frowned as he spoke. "Don't let that fool you, though. Those are the exceptions. There are good people here. Meridian is worth fighting for, even if it grinds you down a bit."

Fred nodded, understanding. His time fighting the Covenant had been brutal. He had seen dozens of planets glassed, most of whom he had fought hard to save. Over the near-30 year length of the Human-Covenant War he had been tempted to feel despair. His commitment to his duty and the loyalty of his sibling Spartans had helped him overcome those temptations and keep fighting. He doubted that Sgt. Singh had the same sort of camaraderie with anyone he worked with, but Fred could certainly sympathize with his weariness and stoic determination.

"Well, let's get you suited up and ready for the field. I'll hold your hand for your first day, so you'll be sticking with me. Plus, it'll give me a chance to evaluate your skills. Go to the locker room and suit up. You'll find your new armor in a locker toward the back. Here's the combination," Sgt. Singh said, grabbing a scrap of paper from the disorganized pile that covered the majority of the surface of his desk, using an old ball-point pen to scribble a sequence of numbers he copied from his computer, and handing it to Fred. The Spartan quickly memorized the passcode, tore the scrap of paper to shreds, and threw it in Singh's wastebasket.

Sgt. Singh laughed again. "You don't mess around, do you?" he asked. "Best be ready for some ribbing from your fellow officers if you keep this up." Fred, once again, frowned internally. What kind of amateur operation was this?

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"This would be amusing if it weren't so horrific," Dr. Halsey said. Kelly nodded in agreement. While she was not a medic and had little experience with medicine outside of standard first aid, she could tell that the small clinic she and Dr. Halsey had been assigned to was in dire need of overhaul.

The clinic itself took up a roughly rectangular 50mx10m prefabricated unit. It had a small waiting area toward the front of the building which opened up into a narrow hallway, along the left side of which were 4 separate rooms for the employees to examine and prescribe treatments to their patients. Past these were three final rooms that were a storage room for medical supplies, a chemistry lab for producing what medicinal compounds they could, and a small office area, respectively. It was the lab to which Dr. Halsey was referring.

"This is all wrong," she said, a deep frown on her face. "I can think of a dozen compounds more useful than the ones you are producing for treating the most common afflictions faced here. I know they can can be synthesized from the available ingredients. And who is responsible for the upkeep of this place?" she asked the beleaguered technician who was their only current coworker. The other 2 who had worked there previously had been transferred to the main hospital closer to the Administrative Building. Without giving the technician time to respond, Dr. Halsey continued, "This place is a pigsty. Why are these chemicals just left here on the counter? These are potentially volatile and have a lower shelf-life when left exposed to oxygen! And this equipment! Are you people even _aware_ of the proper procedures for cleaning those containers?"

The technician gave Kelly an exasperated glance. Kelly just shrugged and gave her a wry expression. There was little hope that even she would be able to get Dr. Halsey to calm down and be more polite. Kelly knew from the times the she had been her instructor that the good doctor could be exceptionally hard to please, especially when it came to things of which she had detailed knowledge. Of course, that had only motivated Kelly and her siblings to work harder to match Halsey's high expectations of them. It was a point of pride for Kelly that they had done so on nearly every occasion.

Plus, it was good to see Dr. Halsey passionate about something again. Even while overseeing the Spartan II program Halsey had behaved in a way that Kelly would describe as restrained. She clearly cared about the Spartans' development and none of them had any delusions that she was anything but a hard worker. However, Kelly thought that Halsey had always displayed an emotional hesitancy in the old days. She seemed to be bothered by something, some inner conflict that Kelly could never quite figure out. Here, though, Halsey seemed to be throwing herself into her role as medical technician with passion and enthusiasm, caustic criticisms aside. Kelly had no doubt that Dr. Halsey would treat this place as _her_ clinic from the beginning, seniority or no. She doubted that the poor technician had the willpower to stand against Dr. Halsey at full force.

Kelly would be lying if she said she wasn't also at least slightly excited at the prospect. She had always known that her work as a Spartan was invaluable to humankind and had saved countless lives, but the potential to help people directly without having to kill anyone or destroy anything was quite appealing to her. She wouldn't be quitting her job, obviously, but Kelly was sure she would appreciate the experience and treasure its memories.

"Well, I suppose we'd better get started," Halsey said resolutely, dismissing their coworker with a wave of her hand. "Kelly, please collect those beakers and move them to the sink so we could give them a _proper_ cleaning."

Kelly smiled and used her enhanced speed to gather the beakers in moments, jumping into her role with what was as close as a Spartan ever came to glee.

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Spartan IIs, as a rule, were not prone to profanity. This was not due to any moral objection or spiritual belief. Rather, it was because their chief trainer, CPO Mendez, had viewed it as lazy. He believed it was a means of trying to communicate without utilizing all of one's mental and verbal arsenal. He viewed it as a shortcut, not as cunning, and discouraged it.

However, Linda was having a difficult time thinking of a better description of Matt Riley, Chief Mining Officer in Administration, than "that asshole."

There were a number of reasons for this. From his general demeanor of arrogant superiority to his overuse of cologne, Linda found him personally unpleasant. His inability to respect person boundaries, even those explicitly pointed out to him, was another. Perhaps most offensive was his status as a functional parasite.

Riley was, theoretically, supposed to handle any and all messages from Sloan, the AI in charge of mining operations. Riley was to pass along any requisitions or requests made by Sloan and generally be the connection between the working world, represented by Sloan, and the corporate world, represented by Administrator Adomar. Unfortunately, as Linda discovered after her arrival, that had changed when Administrator Adomar died of heart failure. Adomar had left no suitable replacement. Riley had neither the experience, nor the mindset, nor the popular support necessary to lead the entire Meridian colony. Sloan had then decided to take the position of Governor temporarily, intending to step down once Liang-Dortmund Company headquarters in the Inner Colonies sent a replacement. Liang-Dortmund had, apparently, never gotten around to doing so. The only explanation that Linda could discover, other blame-shifting and corporate trade-speak intended to cloud the issue to the point where the inquirer lost patience and gave up, was cost cutting. Company headquarters thought it could save money by not hiring a replacement. This was idiotic, as Sloan pulling double duty as Administrator and Chief Miner would tax even a smart AI, but it seemed to be the truth. The fact that Governor Sloan had not yet been taken offline seemed to support this theory of stunningly poor foresight.

Riley, meanwhile, had found himself with nothing to do. Rather than be fired he instead simply...lingered. He still collected a paycheck and came into the office, but everyone knew he was effectively dead weight. Unfortunately noone had the authority to fire him other than Sloan, and the AI had remained stubbornly insistent that Liang-Dortmund would send a replacement any time now. Thus, with no official work to do, he had found a hobby: attempting to have sex with his female coworkers.

Linda had become his newest target.

For the third time that morning, her fourth day at work, Riley walked by her desk with his sleeves rolled up. He was attempting to show off what, to him, must have seemed like quite muscular arms. Linda pretended not to notice him, having to switch to another tab to hide her covert examination of administrative records.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that she had caught the eye of someone sexually attracted to females. Her red hair and green eyes, the rarest possible genetic combination of colors, were divergent enough. Her stoic demeanor—she was not quite good enough an actor to cover it consistently over entire work days—and amazonian build would also be viewed as abnormal and attractive by some. However, sexual activity was not something that she had any experience in. In fact, to her knowledge no Spartan II had any experience in it. Part of their augmentations had been a thyroid implant that, among other functions, suppressed their sex drives. Since they had been trained from age 6 and received them at age 14, they simply had not had time to devote to sexuality before the augmentations and had not had the biological capacity afterward. As such, it was something that had simply escaped her notice when she had been planning this mission with Blue Lead.

Not that she was worried. It was just another obstacle to achieving her objectives, after all. However, while Riley had little to do he did still have some authority. He could make work exceedingly difficult for her if he chose to and she could not afford unnecessary complications.

One solution would be to charge him with sexual harassment, but she dismissed that for a number of reasons. For one, she couldn't afford the attention. Riley had also shown a rather unsurprising immunity to sexual harassment accusations. If company headquarters did not care about a rampant AI running a colony, they certainly wouldn't care about a mid-level bureaucrat harassing his subordinates.

Another solution would be to verbally dissuade him. However, from what she knew of such individuals that would just be taken as a challenge. If he ultimately failed he would take it as a blow to his pride and do all he could to interfere with her ability to function.

Linda could also physically dissuade him. She would have little difficulty killing or disabling him to the point where he could not come to work. This she also dismissed immediately For one, she couldn't afford an investigation or potential charges. More importantly, while she found him unpleasant, Riley was still a citizen of the UEG. He was one of the people Linda was sworn to protect. Death or permanent injury were strictly a last resort, if that. A simple beating, careful to avoid any visible or permanent damage, might be enough to scare him off. However, that ran into the same problem as outright refusal. He would probably try to have her fired if not arrested, from behind cover of a large security officer, no doubt.

She could also simply give in. Allow him to use her body for his sexual gratification. She dismissed that as too risky. She was unaware of any sexually transmitted diseases he might have and couldn't afford to potentially compromise her health. She was also hesitant to make herself vulnerable to attack; it was hard to remain on one's guard in a sexual situation. Not to mention she might be biologically incapable of performing properly, which could bring up all sorts of questions.

Finally, she had decided on a simple if short-term solution: she would lead him on. She would hint, through various subtle means, that she was merely, as a normal woman might put it, "playing hard to get." She would also indicate that she did not feel he met her standards for masculinity, thus motivating him to prove himself to her. This would obviously not be a lasting solution. As time went on his attempts to impress her would become too invasive to be practical and eventually his patience would run out and he would demand sex. Possibly via physical confrontation. He was little threat to her physically, but this would put her in the same situation as if she simply resorted to physical violence in the first place. Hopefully it would buy enough time for her to accomplish her objectives. She would, of course, also be looking for new solutions to present themselves as time went on.

Linda heard Riley turn around, heading back to her office. She deliberately undid one of the buttons on her shirt, showing off a slight bit of chest that she was certain Riley would notice. She saw him do just that out of her peripheral vision as he passed by. Once he was out of sight, she closed the button and switched back to the tab directly related to her covert reconnaissance .

"I don't get you," Michelle Cortez, Linda's only direct coworker, said from her own desk.

"How so?" Linda asked, not looking up from her work.

"You don't have any interest in Riley, yet you lead him on" Cortez responded. "You have to know that's a bad idea."

"How do you know I'm not interested?" Linda asked, still not looking up.

Cortez snorted. "It's in your body language. At first I thought you just weren't into men, but I've seen you interact with other female coworkers. You're not into _anyone._ You know what he could do to you, right?" Cortez continued, her voice concerned. "I'm not saying you should give in to him, but leading him on will only piss him off more. Life's hard enough on Meridian. You don't need to be making it worse for yourself."

Linda sighed, tired of this pointless distraction. "Look, I appreciate the help, but I can take care of myself." She must have been a bit too forceful or cold, because Cortez seemed to take her response as an insult.

"Fine," she said curtly. "Last time I try to look out for you."

Linda frowned. While she was uninterested in friendship, it would be invaluable to have the other personnel at the Administration Building on good terms with her. There was no telling when she would need to ask a favor. She decided to devise a way to make Cortez view her as a friend.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

John stared at his issued mining gear with a frown. _This_ , he thought, _is a definite step down from MJOLNIR Armor._ The gear in question was composed of a series of layers composed largely of thick cloth, colored bright orange to make the location of lost or injured miners as easy as possible. Logical as it may have been, the Master Chief couldn't shake the sense of unease in wearing anything not designed to blend in with the environment. It didn't even seem to be made from ballistic cloth; he doubted they would stop light shrapnel, let alone weapons fire. It probably wouldn't even protect him from most of the airborne silicates he would encounter out in the glasslands. Slightly better was the facial protection, which was at least fully enclosed and included a built-in rebreather. However, here too management had clearly spared every expense it legally could...and probably some it couldn't. Rather than a visor, there were two eye-holes capped with glass lenses that he was meant to see out of. His vision would be restricted to practically unfeasible levels. The air intake likewise seemed poorly designed and rather flimsy, and the filter meant to go in it had clearly already been used. He wondered how much of his gear was recycled. _Probably all of it_ , he mused.

"I know it's not much, but it's a sight better than going out in your casuals," a familiar voice said from behind him.

"Collins," the Master Chief replied, turning to face the self-proclaimed 'community leader.' "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Collins smiled wearily. "Yeah, well, I figured I'd be the nice guy again. I'll show you around, help you get acclimated," she said, her expression growing serious. "It's way too easy to lose your way out there. Not to mention one stumble in the wrong place could send you rolling down a hill of razor sharp glass. More people than I care to count have been shipped home, their bodies too sliced up to even recognize 'em anymore."

The Master Chief was careful to keep his expression neutral. He was growing suspicious of this woman's generosity. "...Thank you," he said carefully, "but won't the supervisor make sure of that?"

Collins snorted in contempt. "Trust me, buddy, you won't be seeing him out here any time soon. Prick hardly ever leaves the Administration Building. You want to stay alive your first few trips out, you stick close to me. I'll hold your hand until you get your bearings. Just don't expect me to mother you, ya hear?" she asked, pointing at the Chief briefly before turning around. "Now come on. We're burning daylight."

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The prep area for prospectors was clearly built for machinery first, with the human workers receiving secondary, or perhaps tertiary, consideration. The area contained several small to medium sized vehicles that would go to a reported claim of valuable silicates and gather a more complete reconnaissance than a single person could perform. They were outfitted with large tires, nearly as tall as the Chief himself. Refueling stations provided hydrogen for the vehicles and several small prefabricated buildings were clearly being used as garages to store the equipment used to service them. The gate in the wall of the settlement was large, being intended for vehicular use, and required about a solid minute to open. The cumbersome design was necessitated by the hostile environment of a glassed world. This meant that the on-foot prospectors were only able to leave or enter at certain periods of the day, barring emergencies. Said individuals were currently standing in the general area in front of the gate, waiting for it to open.

"Hang on, I've got to check in with a few people," Collins said before leaving his side.

The Master Chief still wasn't quite sure what to make of her. She seemed honest enough. None of her behavior had struck the Chief as particularly suspicious. However, she was still a civilian, and the Master Chief had little experience dealing directly with civilians. Let alone relying upon them for instruction. He frowned again, wondering when he should stop postponing putting on the restrictive head gear.

"Well, well, if it isn't the _new arrival_ ," a loud, obnoxious voice said from the Chief's left. The man was clearly young, around 20 years old if the Chief had to guess, with short blonde hair, a poorly trimmed goatee, and the same sneering demeanor as the security officer that had first welcomed him and his family to Meridian. "I hear you're looking to move in on our turf. That right, UEG?"

This situation required careful management. Were this a confrontation with an ODST or regular marine, he would simply pull rank or, if the offending party were a superior, fall back on protocol. But this was not such a case. This man was a civilian, and a civilian in a place where rule of law seemed to be somewhat of a loose suggestion. The Master Chief decided, in the span of about 2 seconds, that the best course of action would be to display his physical superiority. If he established himself as more of a threat than he was worth, this kid and others like him would leave him alone.

"What's the matter? Got glass in your mouth?" the kid challenged, closing the distance between himself and the Chief. "Nothing to say for—" here he attempted to shove the Master Chief on the chest, only to be very surprised when his target grabbed his wrist, struck him in the gut, and levered him into a nearby vehicle. The assailant's cohort moved in to assist, but was quickly removed from the equation by a swift, but carefully restrained, chop to the neck. The kid's backup flopped around on the ground, unable to coordinate his body with enough strength to stand. The Chief accomplished this almost faster than a non-augmented eye could see, and immediately had the original assailant pinned against the vehicle with his arm twisted painfully behind his back.

"Listen up," the Master Chief whispered in his ear. "I am not a person you want to mess with. Come after me, or _my_ _family_ ," here he twisted the kid's arm further, eliciting a whimper, "and I. Will. Hurt. You. Understand?" The kid nodded desperately.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" a voice demanded from behind him. The Chief let the kid go, turning around to see Collins storming angrily towards him. All of the other prospectors present were looking at him, having apparently witnessed the scene. Good. Word about his skill would spread quickly.

"Miller, are you alright?" she asked the kid, who was currently nursing his arm while sitting with his back against the recon vehicle.

"I'm fine," he choked out angrily, before getting up and limping off with his friend.

Collins whirled on the Chief, a fire in her eyes. "Follow me," she hissed, before grabbing his arm and leading him over to the side of the entrance. He decided to allow this, his response to the kid's assault having already served its purpose. "Just what did you think you were doing?" Collins asked in an angry but quiet voice. Apparently she wanted this conversation private.

"I was defending myself," the Master Chief responded simply. "He assaulted me and I used what force I deemed necessary to remove him as a threat."

Collins stared at him in disbelief. "'Remove him as a threat...'" She shook her head. "You really have no idea what that was about, do you? Do you really think beating that dumb kid is going to get him to leave you alone?"

The Master Chief simply raised an eyebrow in skepticism. That was, in fact, exactly what he believed.

"Miller's 'assault', as you called it, wasn't just about you," Collins said. "He was born in the Outer Colonies. His parents were born in the Outer Colonies. As were their parents, and their parents before them. His family has suffered for generations from the UEG's neglect and abuse. The bitterness is bone-deep in him, and because he's a kid, he's going to act out. You beating him up isn't going to be enough to get him to settle down. Young men like him just aren't like that. Not to mention you just destroyed all the good will I've been trying to build up for you amongst the other settlers!" Collins said in an exasperated tone.

"He's going to act out again, probably worse next time. He'll wind up hurting someone. Probably _himself_. You may have bought yourself a bit of peace for now, but that came at the cost of the community's peace later." Collin's face and voice took on an accusatory, and slightly desperate, tone. "I'm trying to keep as many of us alive as I can, and I can't do that if we're all at each others' throats. Just...don't do anything like that again. Please?" Collins asked, her eyes pleading.

The Master Chief frowned. Perhaps his initial dismissal of Collins had been premature. If nothing else, he supposed he could respect her for standing up to him as fearlessly as she had. He towered over her and there would be no question for even the most casual observer that he would soundly defeat her in any physical confrontation. He supposed it was possible he had achieved a tactical victory at the cost of a strategic defeat. This was simply not a theater of conflict he had any experience in. He decided that perhaps, for now at least, he should defer to Collins' expertise.

Finally, the Chief nodded. "I'll keep myself under control," he assured her.

Collins sighed, and shook her head. "I suppose that will have to do. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and try to soothe everyone's ruffled feathers before the gate opens," she said before walking swiftly away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Halo 4 stated that Spartan IIs displayed slightly sociopathic tendencies and difficulty with socialization and I tried to bring that out here. None of Blue Team are necessarily bad people, they just don't know how to act in a situation that doesn't fit into their previous war-dominated lives. The one possible exception is Kelly, who the books established as the most social Spartan II other than Kurt. However, I do plan to have her isolation from regular human society play a role in the chapters ahead.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The first thing the Master Chief noticed once the gate had opened were the windmills. He had seen them on the way in, but he was still impressed by the sheer size of the power-generating wind farm that surrounded nearly the entire city in a single row. On most worlds wind power was purely a supplemental source of energy; wind was too variable and unpredictable to be the primary source of electricity for any major power grid. On Meridian, though, even the calmest days had winds hitting at least one side of Meridian Station with enough force to supply most of the power the colony needed; the fusion reactor beneath the city center was largely a backup. This was thanks to the effects of the terraforming machine supplying breathable air. Further away from the settlement wind conditions were roughly earth-normal.

The second thing the Master Chief noticed was what worlds like Meridian had become most famous for: the glasslands. Of course, the area directly around Meridian Station itself was largely a uniform, very dark brown earth. The mining operations had removed the majority of the usable silicates in the area surrounding the colony years before, and terraforming efforts had begun to restore the ground to its former self. As such, the Chief and the other prospectors would be riding survey vehicles several kilometers out, at which point they would be let off to continue on foot.

Although saying that they were riding _in_ vehicles would be a bit misleading. It would be far more accurate to say that they were riding _on_ them. Either piled onto flatbeds or into large, open topped trailers intended for silicate transport, none of the prospectors had the luxury of an actual chair. The Master Chief reflected on the strangeness of that as he boarded the flatbed that would be his transport, climbing up past the enormous tires. Why would the Liang-Dortmund Company not outfit their workers with such a basic necessity as proper transport? If the prospectors were caught in a storm they would have no hope other than pulling a tarp over themselves and praying it kept most of the silicate particles from shredding them alive. Not to mention the lack of proper restraints making even a minor collision potentially life-threatening. Weren't experienced workers valuable enough to expend the comparatively paltry amount of resources necessary for safe transport? The Chief hung on to what handholds he could find as the vehicle started up.

Eventually the vehicles reached the region they were destined for, Grid 347-F. The prospectors quickly moved to disembark. The Master Chief decided to take the time to assist some of the other prospectors in climbing down from the considerable height of the flatbed. Some accepted his offer, grateful for the help; some accepted but were more tentative; and some flat out refused to take his hand. After the last of them had disembarked, they all quickly moved away to allow the drivers to cover their vehicles in the heavy tarps that would shield them against the hostile environment of untamed Meridian. Minimizing the time the vehicles were exposed would hopefully extend their lifespan.

The Master Chief looked down at the petite figure standing next to him. Collins was now completely covered in the same type of face-obscuring gear he himself wore, but he was accustomed to having to interpret body language. Her posture was conveying clear approval.

"Nice job with helping them down, Rogers" she said quietly, despite the fact that all of the other prospectors were already moving away in different directions, each hoping to find a valuable claim. "It won't erase the beating you gave Miller, but keep it up and people won't be so hostile."

The Master Chief frowned behind his rebreather. He hadn't intended his actions to be any kind of bridge-building exercise. He had seen fellow workers he could assist and had moved to do so. He would have done something similar for any marines he came across. In fact he had done so on numerous occasions, in those times that it wouldn't interfere with his mission objectives. He mentally logged Collins' observation for later consideration. He needed any edge he could get in this environment.

"Come on, let's head out. And be sure to watch your step!" Collins warned.

Here, at last, the Master Chief got a true ground-side view of the glasslands of Meridian: an endless sea of dirty, black silicates covering the entire horizon. Some areas looked like nothing so much as a shiny lake bed colored black, the flat ground broken up by the occasional crater. Others looked like desert sand dunes, wavy mounds blown in the wind. Still others resembled peaks and rocky mountains of jagged obsidian; these areas looked particularly alien, with entire canyons covered in razor-sharp towers of silicates. Formations of tall, sharp silicates formed rows in places, like a grotesque parody of a white picket fence. Collins and the Chief moved out.

"Reminds you a bit of an abstract depiction of hell, doesn't it?" Collins asked, after having stayed within 10 meters of him for several hours of walking. She had occasionally called out to the Chief, telling him to avoid a particular patch of ground or to tread carefully over another. It was actually rather helpful, and he always heeded her warnings. "I was a painter before the glassing," she continued. "Could have made a fortune from the inspiration this nightmare can provide." Collins sighed, both wistful and mournful. "But those days are long past. I lost my passion when I lost my home."

"Maybe it'll come back now that it's being restored...?" the Master Chief commented. He had been largely silent since their discussion in the morning. He didn't want to offend her by never responding to her occasional attempts at conversation.

Collins stopped and looked at him for a moment. Her body language didn't signal that she had found his comment offensive or insulting. If anything, she looked...amused?

"Hah. Thanks for the thought, Rogers, but I'm afraid this well is bone dry regardless. The painter Evelyn Collins never made it off Meridian. I'm all that's left." Collins shook her head, her posture conveying determination and restlessness. "Now let's keep moving. We still haven't found anything yet."

They moved out, carefully crossing the deadly environment while holding out the scanning equipment they had brought with them. Collins was using standard gear intended to detect particularly valuable silicates, created whenever the Covenant plasma bombardment had hit a particular type of target. Areas with a high amount of organic matter, such as forests, were particularly valuable for their makeup. The Master Chief, on the other hand, was holding out the makeshift device Dr. Halsey had built. He was looking for signs of the presence of Forerunner technology and the Guardian in particular. Collins had not mentioned his unique equipment, apparently mistaking it for a jury-rigged version of her own gear.

It was nearing the end of the day, and both prospectors had failed to find anything. Recon could be a long game, something the Chief had forgotten since he rarely had to do it himself anymore. Even before...even before...

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"Could we _possibly_ make any more noise?!"

The Master Chief's response to Cortana's question was to fire both barrels of his rocket launcher in rapid succession, each shot striking and destroying a banshee gunship. The deafening cracks of their destruction drowned out the weapons fire of the infantry battle taking place below them.

"I guess so."

The battle calmed down considerably after that, the remaining Covenant forces being composed largely of Unggoy and Kig-Yar. Not that they surrendered. It was standard Covenant behavior to either fight to the death or flee outright, and the latter only really happened when all of the Sangheili were dead. Thankfully, they were.

After the last Unggoy turned and fled for the proverbial hills, the Master Chief shook his head. Halo. They had found another Halo. Mere hours ago, not including time in cryo-sleep, he had been taking part in the desperate defense of Earth itself from a Covenant fleet. Then, the Covenant Supercarrier that had led the invasion had suddenly jumped to slipspace, necessitating the UNSC _In Amber Clad_ , and the Chief himself, to give chase. They hadn't even had time to pick up the rest of Blue Team. And now they were on another Halo. A replica of the galaxy-threatening superweapon that Cortana and he had barely stopped and destroyed less than a year before. Or rather, another installation in the network of Halo rings. The Chief sincerely hoped no more were found, at least until the War was over and they could dedicate enough resources to hunting down and annihilating them all.

Commander Miranda Keyes was on the comms, demanding an update. The Master Chief responded that he and the marines had secured the primary LZ and were awaiting further instructions. They only needed to know where to move out to once their transport arrived.

Cortana, as usual, supplied the answer.

"I've been scanning Covenant comms chatter, trying to find any trace of the Prophet of Regret."

Regret was one of the three Covenant Hierarchs, the highest ranking members of the San'Shyuum religious species. Those three individuals were the rulers of the Covenant. They were the ones most responsible for the Human-Covenant War, and all of the horrors that had occurred therein. The Chief looked forward to meeting him in person...and then stepping on his neck.

"I've discovered that most of their forces are being committed to what appears to be a large temple complex situated in the middle of a lake about 2 kilometers from here. If I were a megalomaniac—and I'm _not!_ —that's where I'd be."

The Master Chief smiled beneath his helmet. Once again, she had come through for him. Even on the original Halo Cortana had provided him with a near-constant stream of crucial intelligence that had been key to stopping the weapon from firing. It was as much her victory as it was his, if not more so. It was strange to think he had only known her for less than 2 years.

What had he ever done without her?

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John was shocked out of his memories by nearly tripping over a small pile of rocky silicates. He shook his head, clearing away the mild disorientation. These trips into memory were becoming more and more unacceptable. He couldn't afford to be distracted, least of all out here.

Still, it was hard not to get lost in his memories sometimes. Whether it was of the Spartan siblings he had lost in the War or Cortana, there were times he just seemed unable to resist the pull of memory. Although it was happening more frequently since Cortana's...death.

_Chief, I know I'm supposed to know what to do-!_

" _We'll have to deploy the warhead manually. How and where?"_

_I always know what to do...I_ always _know what to do!..._

The Master Chief shook his head, banishing the sound of Cortana's frantic, terrified voice. Her rampancy had robbed her of her abilities before killing her. Another thing he didn't need to dwell on. Of course, it was possible she hadn't died at all...

"You OK, Rogers?" Collins asked. "Looks you almost took a spill there."

"Yeah, sorry, just...," the Chief hesitated, unsure what to say. Deciding that half-truths had served him well so far, he continued, "just got caught up in a memory for a second."

Surprisingly, Collins didn't immediately berate him. Instead, she nodded in understanding. "Yeah, happens to a lot of people on their first time out. Especially if they came from a glassed planet themselves. Nothing to be ashamed of. Still," her posture changed to a lecturing stance, complete with her pointing a finger at him. "Don't let it happen again. I don't like wasting my time, and if you fall and impale yourself on a standing silicate I'm gonna be pissed!"

The Master Chief laughed before he could stop himself. He couldn't help it. Sgt. Avery Johnson, a marine friend who had died in the War, would almost certainly have liked Collins. He nodded at her, turned his attention back to where he was going, and continued covertly scanning for signs of Forerunner technology.

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Linda arrived at her apartment to find a bouquet of flowers in front of her door.

_Riley_ , she thought, mentally grimacing in distaste. She picked up the flowers, entered her living quarters, and promptly dumped the offending vegetation in the trash receptacle. Riley had apparently decided to bring his "courtship" of her into her domestic life. It was not unexpected, his activities having proved unfruitful for nearly 3 weeks, but it meant that Linda was running out of time. She would soon have to either find the data she was looking for or eliminate Riley as a threat. Perhaps some clandestine physical assault. A chemically induced castration might be feasible...

The Spartan shook her head, banishing the thought. Riley was still a UEG citizen. Permanently harming him was a last resort. However pleasant it might be to think about...

Sighing internally, Linda sat down at her desk to begin working on her side project. It had taken only a few minutes bus ride to get back to her apartment. Being an administrative employee, she warranted her own private domicile a few blocks from the Administrative Building where she worked. She was not quite high ranking enough to get living quarters within the former colony ship itself. Only the higher-ups could live there and, with the former colony ship's cafeterias and various resources, were able to effectively never go outside. This also accounted for the comparatively low percentage of lung disorders in the upper echelons of Meridian's corporate government.

While technically an apartment, her living quarters were closer in size to an office cubicle. There was barely room for her bunk, a small dresser, her desk and chair, and a latrine that could barely fit one person inside it at a time. It was no bother, as she was used to having little space in her usual military accommodations. There was, however, one thing that did bother her: the disparity between her quarters and those of the rest of Blue Team. Linda had, naturally, researched the types of accommodations that all of her family would be treated to. Halsey would no doubt be unhappy, but she knew that her siblings at least would have little trouble adjusting to the limited space of their sleep pods. It was the fact that Blue Lead, the Master Chief, had been given inferior quarters to Linda that was problematic. He was her superior, as well as her older brother. While she knew that he never indulged in petty luxuries, she still felt uncomfortable receiving better treatment than him. It just wasn't right. She shook her head, knowing that he would not approve of her wasting time thinking about such trivial topics.

_All right, Miss Cortez, let's find your weakpoint_ , Linda thought as she used her compad to access the net. If the mission was to be a success, Linda needed every asset she could get her hands on, and a secretly one-sided friendship with a coworker could be a powerful one. She decided to start by investigating Cortez's presence in social media. On the first site she checked, Linda discovered that her coworker had quite an extensive profile. Home planet and city, hobbies, likes and dislikes, favorite foods, social circles...The amateur intelligence agent marveled. For millenia intelligence agencies had worked tirelessly to obtain such information, and here people were willingly making it all available to anyone with a connection to the net!

Linda immediately absorbed every scrap of information available to her, looking for a way to endear herself to the Hispanic office worker. There were a number of methods she could try, such as gaining enough knowledge of Cortez's favorite films to pass for having similar tastes. However, Linda needed something that would grant maximum favor in minimum time. She did not have the luxury of the months or years normal intelligence agents took in developing an asset.

Wanting to be as thorough as possible, Linda decided to access Cortez's private email account. It was easy enough to learn the address—it was posted right on her profile. Now to discover the password. She exhausted 2 of the 3 attempts the site allowed before clicking the "I forgot my password" option. The site then provided a security question which, if answered correctly, would allow her unrestricted access to Cortez's account.

The question was simple: "What is your favorite animal?"

It was unlikely to be an obvious answer, such as "cat" or "dog." While she had encountered people who had been guilty of such foolishness—even officers of the UNSC, a fact which gave her no small amount of frustration—she decided to scan the information available in Cortez's social media profile for clues.

After several minutes of digging, Linda noticed that Cortez was apparently an avid fan of an ancient animated film series starring an anthropomorphic animal. Said animal was a long-extinct breed of ursine mammal native to Earth called the "panda." Searching for related subjects, Linda found that Cortez was a fan of several other fictional works that had incorporated the "panda," and was even a member of a group of individuals on the same social site dedicated to the animal. Linda switched back to the tab containing the email login, typed in the answer, and was rewarded with immediate access to Michelle Cortez's private email account. Linda grinned slightly, amused at her coworkers amateur security skills.

The next 45 minutes were spent scanning Cortez's emails for anything Linda could use. She found several promising leads, and in the end decided to pursue the field that had been causing her so many problems of late: romance. It seemed Linda's coworker had an unrequited crush on another Liang-Dortmund employee, if the correspondences between Cortez and one of her friends was any indication. While Linda had no experience in it, she knew from various sources that romantic relationships had a powerful effect on the ordinary human's psyche. If she could somehow arrange for Cortez and the male to liaise, and more importantly receive credit for doing so, her victory would be almost assured. Now how to go about it...

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_This is getting ridiculous,_ Fred thought to himself _._ It had been an entire month and they hadn't found anything! He had scoured the police records, passing off his investigation as mere enthusiasm for his new job, but he had found no indications of any Forerunner ruins. Neither had his attempts to covertly interrogate his fellow officers yielded any progress. The only thing it had accomplished was to cement his new reputation as an over-enthusiastic rookie out to make everyone else look bad. He wasn't proud of it, but being treated as the noobie was grating on him a bit. He had fought for decades as one of humanity's elite soldiers; he had become accustomed to at least some respect. His unexpected emotional response only made him more frustrated with Blue Team's overall lack of progress.

Fred finished putting on his security armor, the light vest and under-suit of ballistic cloth feeling like tissue paper compared to his normal attire, and closed his locker. Some of his fellow officers teased him when he checked the mirror to make sure his uniform was worn perfectly. Fred gave them one of the several new responses he had picked up in his time there: he flipped them off. They rolled their eyes, some of them returning the gesture, and left to go about their duties. Fred made his way to his assigned patrol vehicle. It was an unarmored car with two front seats separated from the back by a metal grate meant to keep prisoners from attacking their arresting officers. He suppressed a sigh as the vehicle pulled out onto the roadway, running over a pothole on the way.

It wasn't that his new position was too difficult. Just the opposite, actually. It was too easy. He normally received the most dangerous, most crucial missions, the kind even the newer Spartan IVs couldn't handle. He realized the importance of what he was doing now, but the tedium of daily police work was beginning to wear on his nerves. _If I have to fill out one more report..._

"Car 17 we have an Alpha-9 in progress in 'The Waterloo Pub.' Repeat, we have an Alpha-9 in progress in 'The Waterloo Pub.' Over," the radio in Fred's police vehicle squawked.

Officer Delacroix, the vehicle's driver and Fred's immediate superior, responded, "Copy Control, Car 17 responding to Alpha-9 in 'Waterloo Pub,' over."

Fred mentally shook his head in disbelief. Meridian was a place where a single or small group of individuals getting drunk and making a scene in public was categorized as an Alpha level occurrence. Compared to the alien or rebel activity he was used to confronting, Meridian's problems were nothing. He felt like an accomplished admiral who had been forced to command a small patrol ship in a peaceful Inner Colony system. Important mission or not, he still felt his skills were going to waste here.

They arrived at the location of the disturbance quickly, the security force being one of the few groups on Meridian capable of affording its own personal vehicles. Officer Delacroix and Fred stepped out of their car, the higher air pressure escaping from the hermetically sealed vehicle when they opened the door. They entered the equally sealed pub, finding 3 drunken colonists brawling a few meters from the bar itself.

Officer Delacroix blew a whistle, drawing the attention of the drunken fighters. Upon seeing Fred, 2 of them immediately stopped their activity and assumed the position for arrest, laying down on the ground with their hands splayed out in front of them. Fred had quickly developed a reputation as an officer to be respected amongst Meridian's sizable population of drunks.

One of them, however, had no intention of going so quietly. He was a man of average height and scrawny build, suggesting most of his money went towards the purchase of alcohol rather than food. Fred was unhappy to notice that the man had a metal prosthetic arm and a neural implant on the back of his neck, indicating that he was a veteran. Dmitri Ivanov was his name. Fred had dealt with him before.

"Fuggin' UNSC bitch," Ivanov slurred, throwing a clumsy punch at the Spartan II. Fred effortlessly dodged it and had the offending assailant cuffed on the ground in seconds. His reputation had been well earned. Fred wondered what had caused a fellow soldier to develop such a loathing for the very military that had saved the human race. Unfortunately, Ivanov was rarely in a state to answer this, or any, question.

Delacroix chuckled at his subordinate, muttering "Show off" beneath his breath. At least he was inclined to like Fred's professionalism, unlike many of the other officers who seemed to view it as a sign he was some sort of glory hound. He would have to thank Sgt. Singh for assigning him a capable superior.

The 2 security officers hauled their charges to the back of their patrol car, Ivanov muttering angrily the entire way, gathered statements from witnesses, brought the perps back to the station for temporary detainment, and got on with their rounds. They would continue dealing with petty disturbances, and filling out tedious paperwork, until it was time to clock out for the day. _Hooray,_ Commander Fred-104 thought to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kelly suppressed a yawn and finished typing up the log entry for Dr. Halsey's newest patient. Christopher Johnson, a middle-aged prospector, had developed a lung disorder. Many of the miners and prospectors had conditions similar to his and Dr. Halsey had tasked the majority of the lab to brewing medicinal treatments for them.

"Thank you, Kelly," Dr. Halsey said, her face betraying mixed emotions. Kelly nodded in response, knowing better than to draw out this particular interaction. Kelly's augmented speed made her the natural choice for transcribing records, the small clinic lacking voice recognition software. Kelly understood the Doctor's ambivalence. Before she had lost her arm Halsey had been even faster a typist than Kelly, normally breaking 120 words per minute thanks to her decades of practice and exceptional intellect. The Spartan remembered it sounding like automatic weapons fire. Having to rely on another like this, even one of her Spartans, was difficult for her.

"How's my buddy doing, Doc?" Evelyn Collins asked Kelly, Halsey having left the waiting area to tend to other duties.

Kelly smiled at Collins from behind the desk, happy that the community leader was once again visiting one of her charges. "Please, Ms. Collins, I'm not a doctor. I would prefer it if you didn't call me that," she said.

"And I would prefer it if you stopped calling me 'Miss' all the damn time," Collins smiled back. "But please, Johnson...?"

"Mr. Johnson is going to be fine," Kelly assured her. "He's in the second patient room having a rest. He just had a bit of an attack in the lungs, and Dr. Pym wanted to keep him here overnight for observation. Can't be too careful with a breathing problem. So long as he takes his medicine he should be fine to resume work in a few days."

Collins snorted. "Unlikely on both counts, Doc. If a prospector doesn't work, he doesn't get paid. He'll probably be back out in the glasslands tomorrow if noone stops him. As for the medicine, well..." Collins grimaced, "he might try to stockpile it. A lot of people think that if they're feeling anywhere close to fine they'll try to save it for when things get really bad. They don't want supply to run out when they literally can't get out there any more."

"But...their conditions will worsen much more quickly and severely if they do that!" Kelly objected, horrified. "And unless they're storing the medicine properly it probably won't last that long anyway!"

"I know that," Collins tried to assuage her, "but fear ain't rational, and these people are afraid. A lot of them live payday-to-payday. They can't afford not to work even for a short time. The day he spent in here is already putting him at risk. I might have to raise some funds to support him until he gets back out there."

Kelly actually groaned in frustration, a spectacular display of emotions by Spartan standards.

"Why is this place so short on everything?" Kelly asked rhetorically. To her surprise, Collins answered.

"Funding, honey. Company headquarters barely gives any of the profits toward medical necessities. Would cut into the profits," Collins scowled, clearly restraining herself from becoming angry.

"But...isn't it the job of the colony's leadership to ensure that the residents are provided for?" Kelly asked hesitantly. She had never interacted with Governor Sloan herself, but she had grown to suspect that many of the colony's problems might be traceable to being run by an artificial intelligence that was, for all intents and purposes, going senile.

"Ha! They tried," Collins responded. "Sloan actually diverted funds meant to go to mining equipment into the medical budget one year. Tried to argue that if Meridian was to keep being productive, it needed healthy workers. Know how headquarters responded?"

Kelly shook her head.

"They cut our food budget for the next quarter in half! There were a lot of growling stomachs that year..." Collins scowled to herself. "Look...if I keep talking about this stuff I'm gonna start getting worked up. I'm just gonna visit my friend and then head back home. Take care, ya hear?"

Kelly nodded as Collins left, still trying to process what she had just been told. A rampant AI was serving as a protector of the common human here on Meridian? Could that be true, or had the self-proclaimed governor tricked the populace into thinking he was on their side? Surely Liang-Dortmund wouldn't be a able to get away with such a clear abuse of its workforce. Although...Collins' story certainly seemed to line up with the general neglect that Meridian clearly suffered from in nearly every area of its existence. Surely even an AI like Sloan wouldn't be able to conceal all of the conditions here...

Kelly sighed and decided to get back to work. She would have to find time to think about this later, although she couldn't imagine when that would be. Their clinic was so understaffed she had been spending nearly every waking moment at work, sacrificing a significant amount of sleep to try to keep up. She reminded herself to view it as just another challenge to be surmounted, and resumed her work with all the speed she could safely use.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Master Chief looked into the alley from his perch on the roof of the 2 story-tall warehouse. _Looks like Collins was right after all,_ he thought with a frown. It had taken several weeks, but the petite prospector's prediction had come true.

Yao Miller, the kid who the Chief had subdued the first day he went into the glasslands, looked into the alley in confusion. His three friends were equally confused. The alley was a dead end. There shouldn't have been anywhere for their prey to escape to. Had the Master Chief not been a Spartan, they may have been right. Being what he was, however, the Chief had had little trouble leaping most of the way to the roof and climbing the rest of the way in the few seconds it took his pursuers to arrive.

The Master Chief had spotted Miller and his cohorts as soon as they had started following him, less than a block away from the exterior gate. It hadn't been difficult. Committed as they might have been to making trouble, they were far from professionals. Blue Team would never have been so obvious. The Chief continued to observe them from above, careful to minimize his profile in case one of them thought to look up.

This was, unquestionably, a problem. The Master Chief was unused to dealing with threats he couldn't simply kill or injure into submission. Physical force had clearly not been an adequate deterrence. The small group below would be little threat, lacking even a single firearm, but if he subdued them they would likely escalate the situation again next time. More people, potentially better weapons. Eventually the Chief might be forced to use lethal force, which would bring all sorts of unacceptable attention. Not to mention the fact that he didn't like the idea of killing the kid, mixed history or not.

At his behest, Linda had researched Yao Miller. It turned out that Miller had a history with an organization named "Emerald Dawn," an Insurrectionist group dedicated to achieving independence from the UEG. The group had largely been destroyed when their planet was glassed by the Covenant, but enough records survived that Linda was able to track down exactly who he was. Miller had participated in the planning of several attempted bombings when he was just 13 years old and had only been released due to his age and the loss of his homeworld.

Normally it wouldn't take much to convince law enforcement that he was a problem, but if half of what Fred had reported was true there simply weren't enough resources to bother with a former Innie. Too much time handling minor violence, he said, and without proof they wouldn't be able to do anything anyway. Given that it was his word against Miller's, and that he was supposedly from the Inner Colonies while Miller was from an Outer Colony, the Chief had little hope in receiving official help.

_What to do, then?_ the Master Chief asked himself, watching the group leave in defeat. There had to be some way to get Miller and his comrades to back off. Collins had said that the occasional assistance he gave his fellow prospectors was helping improve his reputation, but that clearly had not been enough for the more radical members of the community. He would have to bring this up when he regrouped with the rest of Blue Team tonight. Linda might have some ideas about manipulating them. Perhaps Kelly or Dr. Halsey would have some ideas about appealing to their human empathy. The Chief shook his head. Empathy from an Innie. Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm a little worried that these last few chapters have been a bit heavy on exposition. I'm trying to keep the characters active and advance each of their stories, but I'm still worried I'm spending too much time on description. Any thoughts?
> 
> Note: I share much of Linda's frustration where it comes to electronic security. People are way too open about certain topics, especially stuff that relates to security questions. My advice: Lie. If your security question asks for your hometown, say "Gotham City." If it asks for your mother's maiden name, say "Voltron." If it asks who you voted for in the last election, say "Lex Luthor." Etc.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

It wasn't until his fourth week on duty that Fred finally went on an excursion into the glasslands.

His covert examinations of security records had, so far, proved fruitless. He knew that the rest of Blue Team had been similarly unsuccessful, and was growing worried that their covers would be blown before they found what they needed. Thus it was with a feeling of anxious hope that Fred accompanied Sgt. Singh to a dig site, one of Dr. Halsey's scanning devices activated and hidden in his pack.

The dig sight was dozens kilometers from Meridian Station itself. Thankfully, the security forces had access to several old Pelican dropships, so they didn't have to pile onto scout vehicles like the Master Chief had on his excursions with the prospectors. The dropship shook and rattled in a way Fred had not experienced without the accompanying sound of anti-aircraft fire. Decades of landings in hot zones had long ago eliminated any bit of motion sickness Fred had ever had. Even so, he found himself becoming worried as the Pelican made its way over the nearly half-hour flight. The field security armor he had donned for the trip made it easier to hide his relief at their landing; another thing to be thankful for.

The dig site itself resembled nothing so much as a massive pit, over a kilometer in diameter, lined with heavy machinery. Enormous conveyor belts led from the bottom into even more enormous bins, ready to be mounted on vehicles to transport to the orbital elevator. Mining lasers were above the pit itself, used to shave off massive sections of silicates that would then be smashed to bits and placed on the conveyor belts. One of the lasers had recently hit an air pocket, within which the miners had discovered a sign of human habitation that had survived the glassing. Meridian Security had been called in to confirm and secure the find, and Sgt. Singh had decided to take Fred along, as well as a single other officer. Hopefully, it was a sign that he had been making a good impression on his superior.

Fred once again checked his helmet. It contained a built in rebreather, thankfully, but it was not as good as his MJOLNIR helmet. It's visor was smaller, for one, not to mention the heads-up display showed little more than a compass. Also, for some inexplicable reason, the visor was tinted green, giving him a bizarre and inaccurate view of his environment. _At least I can see what I'm doing_ , Fred thought, remembering the Master Chief's description of his own headgear. How the Chief hadn't gone insane in that thing was beyond him.

"Lights on," Sgt. Singh said. Fred and the other security officer obediently switched on the flashlights attached to their helmets. _Not even an enhanced light mode_ , Fred thought with a scowl. He shook off the thought, focusing on the mission. The air pocket was rather large, being about 100 meters deep and half that wide. Towards the rear of the chamber they found what they were looking for: a house. Almost completely untouched by the glassing. The walls were still whole, the doors and windows were intact, even the paint was still mostly visible. Fred stood there for a moment, his brain refusing to believe what his eyes were reporting to him.

"Bit of a shock, isn't it, Barton?" Sgt. Singh asked.

Fred rallied and responded, "Yes, sir. How...how is this possible?"

"A few possibilities. A momentary malfunction in the plasma weaponry. A freak interference by other parts of the environment being glassed. The inherent inaccuracy involved in firing a plasma bombardment big enough and powerful enough to render an entire planet uninhabitable. Crap like this just happens every now and again." Singh shook his head. "It's a good thing, I think...keeps us from forgetting what happened here."

Sgt. Singh then ordered the team to begin scanning the find for the official records. While they all gathered the data, he continued speaking to Fred. "I remember the first find I confirmed. It was another house, not as well preserved as this one. I was as surprised as you are now. Didn't think things like this were possible. It wasn't the house itself that bothered me, though. No...it was what I found behind it." Sgt. Singh didn't stop working, but glancing over Fred noticed his posture had changed. He seemed uneasy, as if merely remembering what he was describing was enough to shake him up. "It was a leash. The kind you put on a pet. There was even a little 'house' right next to it, a wooden one with a small opening for the animal to climb in. Funny, isn't it?" Singh chuckled nervously. "It wasn't the house, or human remains, or any of the things that directly showed human habitation. Something about that little detail, that little sign of the way things used to be, that really drove home just what happened here. Just how many people died, and how much was lost..." Singh trailed off here, either finished talking or lost in his own thoughts.

Fred wasn't sure how to respond. The Master Chief was never this talkative, especially not in the field. Shouldn't they all be focused on the mission, and save any ruminations for when they were back on base? Not to mention the intimacy of Singh's conversation. Did the Sgt. trust Fred that much? Did he believe they were friends? While Fred had certainly gained more respect for the man since he began working for him, he didn't think they had grown particularly close. Maybe someone who was much closer to being a civilian was just more open about their own psyche.

Whatever the case, Fred continued recording the find, while Dr. Halsey's device hopefully found what they were so desperately looking for.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Now _this_ is certainly progress," Dr. Halsey said triumphantly. The Master Chief was happy to hear it.

They were meeting in Halsey's office in the medical clinic, their sleeping pods in Icarus Flats being unsuited to clandestine conversation. Fortunately it appeared that none of the colonists had noticed their absences. It seemed that the residents of Meridian customarily met wherever they could when they wanted a little privacy. Halsey had even had to run off a young couple who had entered the clinic shortly before closing time, looking to have sexual relations in one of the treatment rooms. Reportedly her shouts could be heard all the way to the Administrative Building. The Master Chief was as unfamiliar with sexuality as the rest of Blue Team, but even he couldn't help but wonder how anyone could find that setting sexually appealing.

"How much progress?" the Chief asked.

"I have managed to narrow the potential area to within 20 kilometers of the dig site that Fred visited," the good doctor responded. "The data he gathered should help narrow it still further, hopefully to the point where we can enter the next phase of this operation. We should know within a few days."

"Why not sooner?" Fred asked.

Dr. Halsey sighed, disappointed that she would have to explain it again. She must have understood that the question was born of impatience rather than poor memory or intellect, but Halsey had always loathed repeating herself.

"If I had access to a UNSC supercomputer and an AI assistant I could have the exact location within hours," she responded. "In fact, I likely would have had it weeks ago. Unfortunately, I am limited to what computers we smuggled from _Argent Moon_ and those that were available within the clinic. Frankly, it's rather impressive I've made as much progress as I have," she said crossly. Fred grimaced, nodding in apology.

"Alright, next topic," the Master Chief interjected. There was nothing more they could do about furthering the search for the moment. They needed to focus on the other challenges that had arisen after their arrival. "Linda, what's the status on the Riley situation?"

Linda answered clearly and methodically. "His advances continue to escalate. It is now a rarity that he does not attempt to converse with me at least once during working hours, as well as during lunch break. I believe my current strategy will only continue to work for 1 more week, 2 at the most, without drastic action. However, I have bought some additional time by covertly purchasing the services of a local brothel for him under the guise of an anonymous patron. I learned from bank records that Riley is an occasional customer in said establishment. He is stupid and lazy enough that I doubt he'll question his good fortune. Hopefully this will temper his libido."

"Where did you acquire the funds?" the Master Chief asked.

John swore he could see a glint of vindictive pleasure in Linda's stoic features as she responded, "From Riley's own retirement fund. I managed to arrange it without the fund sending Riley any notifications, so he shouldn't find out until some time after we are done here. If he even notices at all." The glint seemed to intensify, her mouth even seeming to turn upward in an infinitesimal smirk. The Master Chief frowned. It was most unlike Linda to exhibit such emotional responses, let alone to allow it to influence her behavior. He supposed her actions were not technically irrational, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she was enjoying hurting Riley a bit too much. He couldn't let her emotions potentially jeopardize the mission, or her safety. The Chief marveled at the fact that such a scenario was a valid concern with _Linda_ , of all people. What was it about this planet that seemed to be messing with all of their heads?

He decided to go with a mild rebuke and warning. "Careful, Blue Two. We can't risk Riley becoming hostile towards you."

Linda immediately sat straighter and nodded, accepting the rebuke. "Of course, sir. I'll be cautious."

The Master Chief nodded, satisfied that she had gotten the point. "Keep looking for alternative solutions," he ordered. "What's the status of your manipulation of Michelle Cortez?"

"Progress has been good," Linda replied, once again all business. "I covertly altered the work schedule of her potential romantic partner, Amare Mbanefo, so that he spends more time in her immediate vicinity. Her email correspondences with her friends have increased in their focus on the male in question. Mbanefo's email account and comm records have shown a similar increase in discussion of Cortez. I believe the situation is ripe for me to give a push to one or both of them to fully transition into a romantic relationship. Her assistance should be much easier to acquire once that is achieved."

To everyone's surprise, Dr. Halsey interrupted. "I still don't approve of this line of action," she said, shaking her head. "Meddling with a person's life in such a callous way is not what I've come to expect of you."

Blue Team stared at her, unsure what to make of the comment. On the one hand, they all felt a sense of guilt and discomfort at being scolded by their mother. On the other hand, none of them were happy with a civilian objecting during a meeting. If it were anyone else the Master Chief would already be putting her in her place. If Dr. Halsey recognized their displeasure with her behavior, she showed no sign of it.

"...be that as it may, we need every asset we can get in this operation. We'll try to restrain our 'meddling' to the strictly necessary and, if possible, ensure it has a net positive effect for Cortez," the Master Chief assured her. He hoped the statement combined a rebuke with a concession, but Dr. Halsey still seemed displeased with the whole affair. Hopefully she would keep her thoughts to herself on the subject from here on out.

The Master Chief turned to address Linda again. "Continue on your current course. Keep me updated if there are any snags or significant changes," he ordered. Linda's response was a simple "Yes, sir."

"Fred, progress report," the Chief ordered Fred.

"Nothing new to report, Chief," Fred responded. "I'm still experiencing some strife with my fellow officers, but nothing that could prove a hindrance. Sgt. Singh seems to respect me, and that bodes well for future setbacks. Still no progress on finding leads to Forerunner finds in the security records."

The Master Chief nodded. Kelly's report was similarly standard, although the Chief had noticed that Kelly's movements were not quite as swift as they normally were. He reminded her of the necessity of receiving adequate sleep and she promised to ensure she took appropriate rest.

_Now for the hard part,_ he thought to himself.

"I have nothing more to report on my findings in the field. Dr. Halsey is currently examining all of the readings the scanner detected. However," the Master Chief hesitated for a microsecond before continuing, "I find myself having difficulty resolving hostilities between myself and prospector Yao Miller. Threats of force have proven ineffective. He has also failed to lose interest as I continued to evade his gang and their attempts to ambush me. My attempts to assist fellow prospectors, including Miller and his allies, have been similarly ineffective. Any opinions?"

Linda and Fred recommended finding a way to publicly humiliate and discredit Miller. Removing his credibility would eliminate his ability to gain the advantage of numbers, at which point his morale would be lowered to the point where he would hopefully be willing to give up. Kelly pointed out that Miller had displayed a level of irrationality and bitterness that made such an outcome unlikely; he would probably keep coming after the Chief even if he had to do it alone. Dr. Halsey proposed a course of action that John had no confidence in whatsoever.

"I still suggest attempting to communicate with him," she said.

_Not this again,_ the Master Chief thought with an internal groan.

"I understand that his background as a rebel makes you inclined to disregard the possibility of peaceful relations, but I think it is our best bet," Halsey said.

"Thank you, Doctor," the Chief replied, "but, as I have stated previously, I think such a course of action will prove unsuccessful."

Dr. Halsey refused to give up. "I understand that your history fighting the Insurrection has left you with a negative impression of their movement as a whole, and rightly so. However, that assessment is unfair when applied to all of its members indiscriminately," she insisted.

"Is it now?" the Master Chief asked. This was really starting to get on his nerves. He knew Dr. Halsey would never agree with the Insurrectionists, but she was coming dangerously close to defending them. Hadn't she read the reports? Didn't she know what they were guilty of? What Miller himself was guilty of?

Halsey, of course, immediately picked up on his frustrated mood. However, true to form, she seemed to ignore his discomfort and charged ahead. "I know of his past, John," she said in a calm, reasonable tone. "He was a bomber. He would send bombs to civilian homes and places of business in the hopes of killing those crucial to the continued operation of the UEG in the Outer Colonies. I understand the impact that such activities had on you-"

" _Do you?_ " John interrupted, stunning all of his family members into silence. The vehemence, the anger, with which he had said those two simple words was something they had clearly never seen in him before. John closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at their shock. He had always been a quiet, introverted man, and he had worked hard over the years to hide any sign of weakness. He was their leader and it would have been devastating to unit cohesion for them to see him coming apart in any way. Although...if he were honest with himself...that was not the only reason he had always hidden his feelings. It was also more personal: he didn't like appearing vulnerable. Even to his family.

Now, however, he may have to bite the bullet and share his innermost feelings in open conversation. It seemed to be the only way to make them understand. Besides, it was something they were entitled to. He knew each of them well and he did not like the idea of keeping secrets from each other. John swallowed, forced himself to ignore the ball of dark matter that had suddenly appeared in his stomach, and opened his eyes to look at his mother and his siblings.

Each of them was looking at him with concern in their eyes. Even Linda had an openly worried expression on her face. Concerned as they were, it was clear none of them knew what to do. Spartans were natural problem solvers and their talents had been honed through years of training and decades of combat experience. This, though...this situation had so much emotional baggage attached to it that it had actually done the impossible and made a squad of Spartan IIs hesitate. The Master Chief knew that he would have to take the lead in this. It seemed like the greatest challenge of his life.

After a moment, he asked, "Did I ever tell you all about the time I liberated an Insurrectionist internment camp?" They all looked at each other, then shook their heads. The Master Chief steeled his resolve, and began his story.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was early in my career. On a colony called Sosnowiek III. I remember the exact date, the exact time, I found it—0941 hours, 17 March 2527. It was one of the rare times I went lone wolf since the rest of Blue Team was tied up putting down a few straggler cells halfway across the planet. I figured they could use the practice operating without my leadership. If I was ever injured or KIA they needed to be able to function without me.

I was following a lead on an Insurrectionist compound about 12 kliks away from a small town that had been razed to the ground by the rebels. Thousands had died in the slaughter before UNSC forces could arrive to intervene.

I'm sure the Outer Colonists love to talk about the ONI security sweeps. The paranoia that a lot of UEG and UNSC officials had about potential double agents in their midst. What I imagine they don't mention is how the Innie's were even more paranoid than their hated enemies. They were terrified of ONI agents infiltrating their ranks and betraying their secrets.

There was little unity between the various rebel groups. Even calling it a single movement was more of a cultural classification than a sign of anything resembling a functional command structure. In several sectors the Insurrection had space-craft capable of fighting the UNSC outside of an atmosphere, although even they stuck to guerrilla operations since they lacked the resources of the official military. On Sosnowiek, the rebels were strictly grounded and wholly unconventional. If any of their locations were discovered it would be a simple matter to have it obliterated from orbit. The only reason Blue Team was involved at all was because of a need to gather intelligence before the blasts hit.

It was all an indefensible waste of time. The Covenant was invading. They had already glassed several planets. They had murdered billions of human beings and showed no signs of stopping. It was entirely likely that they intended to make good on their oath to exterminate the entirety of the human species. Yet here I was, fighting Innies on some backwater colony light-years away from the war I was _supposed_ to be fighting.

Anyway, the compound itself was pretty basic. It had a chain link fence, a garage that could fit a couple of civilian vehicles, and a single large building that had almost certainly been some kind of warehouse. There were a few ad hoc guard towers that had been thrown up around the perimeter. They were made out of scrap wood and duct tape, mostly. Pathetic. I spent approximately half an hour scanning the place from outside the perimeter. No life signs detected outside the main building. I moved in cautiously, not willing to risk getting killed because of an equipment malfunction. I was careful not to make any noise as I tread over the ¼ meter deep snow.

I checked the guard towers first. Empty. Then I checked the garage. Empty. Then I checked the main building. The doors had been locked. Not just the regular lock, though. The Innies had literally chained the door shut, securing the chain with a mechanical padlock straight out of the 20th Century. I marveled at how ill equipped this cell had been as I ripped the padlock off with my left hand. The regular electronic lock was simple to bypass with my field compad. I carefully pushed open the door, keeping the room covered with my assault rifle and keeping my eye on the motion tracker displayed on the interior of my visor.

I couldn't have smelled it. I was wearing MJOLNIR Mark IV Armor. It's on-board computer systems would have detected the smell and automatically filtered it out. But...I swear I could smell it. I could feel it burning my sinuses and stinging my eyes.

The interior floor was covered in bodies. Literally covered. I couldn't see an actual patch of floor anywhere inside the building. They must have been 2 or 3 deep in places. I could tell right away that they were civilians. There were no guns, no armor, and none of them had neural implants. These weren't soldiers. The Innies had to have taken them from the town before burning it down. They must have brought them here, hoping to find an informant among them. It was Standard Operating Procedure for the Insurrection; they'd "disappeared" millions of people over the years. After all, that's why they murdered the town in the first place.

There were hundreds of bodies. Many of them were already showing signs of decay. I remember being confused for a moment by the lack of visible injuries on most of them. How, exactly, had the Insurrectionists executed these people?

Then it hit me. They hadn't. They'd abducted these people, forced them into a room packed so tight that they literally couldn't even sit down, and just...left them there. Left them there to die. They must have pulled out to avoid the approaching UNSC forces before they could begin interrogations. They'd probably forgotten all about them by now.

How long had it taken? The town had been destroyed a little over a week ago. Dehydration, probably. A terrible way to die, but at least it's quicker than starving.

That's when I remembered the faint life-signs my armor had detected from outside. Right next to a window on the far wall, hanging from hooks attached to chains hanging from the ceiling, was an improvised hammock. Apparently this place had once been used to store animal carcasses, and one of the prisoners had managed to snag some sort of tough cloth onto two of the hooks. His close proximity to an open window directly below the roof must have provided enough fresh air to survive.

I quickly but carefully moved over to him. I had to get him medical attention as quickly as possible. There seemed to be only one survivor, but one was better than none, right? I forced myself not to think of the noises the bodies made as I walked over them, my 1 ton bulk crushing them beneath my feet. I had neither the time nor the resources to properly make a path to the far wall. The navy was going to be saturation bombing this entire area to eliminate guerrilla cells in less than an hour. I needed to get him out fast.

I called out to the survivor when I was directly beneath him. I explained that I was a UNSC soldier and that I was here to rescue him. I could jump up to him easily, but it would be safer if he climbed down.

I'll never forget the look in his eyes as he peeked over the side of his refuge to look at me. His eyes were...almost dead. There was still some life left in him. Not quite spirit broken. Although, the "life" in his eyes could best be described as a mix of disbelief and desperate hope. It took a bit of convincing, but I managed to talk him into climbing down. I carried him out of the building and toward the evac site.

He talked to me on the way there. I asked him to be quiet, but I don't think he understood me. That or he just couldn't stop himself. He talked about what it was like. In the warehouse. About the arguments, the silences, the weeping and moaning. He talked about how some people would collapse from exhaustion, but it was impossible to stay alive on the floor. The people around them would be forced to stand on them, not to mention they would probably suffocate down there. So they tried to get their neighbors to help them up. They would tug on legs, scratch bare skin, even cut them if they had any kind of blade or sharp edge on them. It never worked. Eventually they stopped moving. Eventually _everyone_ stopped moving.

The survivor, Vladek, had gotten lucky. He had been one of the first one's forced in and had immediately picked up a heavy tarp he found on the far floor, climbed to the hooks hanging from the ceiling, and created his makeshift hammock. He would reach out the window and take snow from the roof to eat, thus staving off the thirst that claimed all of the other prisoners. He even passed some along to those beneath him in exchange for not trying to rip the hammock down. Resourceful man. Eventually, though, they too collapsed, and Vladek had noone to give snow to.

I don't know how he didn't get sick from the rotting corpses. Maybe the fresh air from the window bought him enough time for me to arrive. Maybe he did get sick, and died after I handed him over to the medics. I don't know. I didn't have the time to check up on him. Less than an hour after I found him the warehouse, the compound, and all of the surrounding area was destroyed by orbital bombardment.

I could only hope that the bastards who had done this got blown to hell in the blasts.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Master Chief finished his story. His voice had gone from grim, to an almost emotionless monotone. These were memories he hadn't dredged up for years. Maybe he hadn't ever really dealt with them.

The rest of Blue Team and Dr. Halsey were silent. Grim faced. Halsey looked like she was holding off crying through sheer force of will. It took a moment for the Chief to understand why they were reacting like this. After all, they had all heard and seen worse stories over the course of the Human-Covenant War.

Then it hit him: they weren't reacting to the story at all. They were reacting to how it had affected _him_. They had never seen him this way. Never seen him so deeply hurt by something he had seen. Apparently his efforts to conceal his emotions had been more successful than he had ever dreamed possible.

The Master Chief looked at Dr. Halsey, the reason he had told his story. "Now do you understand?" he asked her. "I know what the Insurrection was. What Miller was. What Miller _is_. There is no making peace with a man like that," he said resolutely.

Dr. Halsey still looked like she was about to cry. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "People aren't that simple, John," she whispered. His augmented senses had no trouble hearing her. "Miller isn't that simple."

The Master Chief shook his head in disbelief. _Still? She still doesn't understand?_

"Oh, John..." she moved to get up and go to him. The Master Chief stood up and abruptly left the room. He couldn't take this anymore. He'd go outside and wait for the next bus. He'd just put his hand over his mouth, breathe through his fingers or something. A little lung damage was a small price to pay for getting out of that room right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I pretty much ripped off this flashback wholesale from 2 sources. The first and most obvious is "Hunt the Truth" season 1. The second is the graphic novel Maus II by Art Spiegelman, which depicts the author's father's experience in the Holocaust. I highly recommend it, and its predecessor Maus, to anyone interested in getting really depressed and horrified about the human race.
> 
> Note: This chapter's shorter than I intended it to be, but I figured that I shouldn't include too much or it would take away some of the impact of the flashback. Don't worry, there's more coming soon.
> 
> Note: I tried to have John's narration be distinctly different from the way I usually portray his perspective in third person. I figured that he would be in a very different state of mind relating something that had traumatized him while young than he would going about his business in the modern day. Did I pull it off ok?
> 
> Note: As far as I'm aware, the Spartan IIs experiences fighting the Insurrection have received little to no attention in Halo media and they seem to have had even less of an impact on the characters themselves. I always thought that this was a huge waste from a storytelling perspective, especially considering how much ill will is still present in the Outer Colonies towards the UNSC. Don't worry, I'm not turning Blue Team into PTSD horror stories. I just think this adds an interesting new dimension to the Spartan IIs and John in particular. Thoughts?
> 
> Note: If you're curious about the name of Cortez's crush, I got it from a list of African first and last names. I mentioned earlier that people from all over UEG space travel to terraforming jobs, resulting in extreme ethnic diversity. In an effort to show that, every time a new character shows up I try to give him/her a name from a part of the world I haven't represented yet. Hence Yao Miller, Sgt. Singh, Officer Delacroix, etc.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"You're sure about this, Nat?" Amare Mbanefo asked nervously. "I don't think she's even noticed me..."

Linda smiled in a way calculated to offer maximum reassurance without seeming patronizing. "Of course I'm sure. Trust me, ask her out and she'll say yes."

At this point Cortez returned to her desk from her trip to Riley's office. Judging by the expression on her face, it had gone as poorly as such meetings ever had. However, Linda noticed her suppress a smile when she caught sight of Mbanefo before she turned to her desk. Linda's belief in the power this potential romance would have over Cortez was once again supported. If she pulled this off, her coworker would become a valuable asset.

Mbanefo glanced to her for encouragement. She smiled and nodded in response, and the curiously shy man steeled his courage and made his way over to Cortez's desk. An hour later at closing time the two were leaving together, off to enjoy a shared meal.

Linda smiled internally. At least something was going as planned.

The clandestine Spartan II packed up her compad and personal supplies and headed back to her apartment. Once she was safely inside, she permitted herself to reflect on the previous evenings events.

How could Dr. Halsey be so blind? Of course the Master Chief knew who he was dealing with! He had seen more combat than any of them, and had the intelligence and cunning of the ultimate soldier. He was better than any of them, and if anyone understood the enemies of mankind it was him.

The real problem was Miller. Unfortunately, they had not had the opportunity to come to an agreed upon course of action given the Chief's story and subsequent departure. The Innie needed to be removed as quickly and effectively as possible. Perhaps physical intervention was warranted here. Unlike Riley, Miller was guilty of treason—the courts may have pardoned him, but everyone knew men like him never changed. Dr. Halsey, wise as she was, would never agree to it. Perhaps she should do it in secret?

No. Linda was not willing to go that far in keeping secrets from her family. This was where she drew the line. She groaned internally at how frustrating this situation was becoming; what she wouldn't give to be able to solve her problems with her rifle, Nornfang, like she normally did.

Linda shook off those thoughts and refocused on the Master Chief. This wasn't about her.

Was there anything she should do? Some form of comfort she should offer? She had no doubt that her leader could get through this on his own. He was more than strong enough. But she was his sister as well as his subordinate. She should offer some sort of support, right? Isn't that what people were supposed to do?

Linda recalled the brief discussion the other members of Blue Team had had after the Chief stormed out of the clinic the night before.

" _What do we do?"_ Linda had asked, unable to conceal the fact that she felt lost in the face of what had just happened.

" _Keep supporting him," Dr._ Halsey had replied, after taking a moment to compose herself. _"John kept this from us because he was afraid of appearing weak. He was afraid we would lose respect for him. If we try anything foolish like staging an intervention it will just reaffirm his fear that we don't trust him anymore. He's still in control."_

Halsey had stopped talking after that, retreating into the lab and locking the door behind her. She had to know that the door would not keep them out if the Spartans wanted to follow her. Linda supposed it was a force of habit.

_How could he think we wouldn't trust him?_ Linda asked herself. He was their leader! He had been since they were cadets! They'd follow him to the gates of Hell if he asked them to.

Linda shook her head. Why did human psychology have to be so irrational?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Here you go, all fixed up," Kelly said as she finished applying the bandage to the child's arm. It had been a simple cut gained when the little girl had fallen down while playing. On any other world it would hardly have warranted a trip to a clinic, but there was always the chance of silicate contamination and the parents of Meridian tended to be the protective sort. They needed to be, in such a hostile environment.

"Thank you so much," the little girl's mother said. She looked down at her daughter, prompting, "What do you say, Aiko?"

"...thank you..." the child said in a timid, quiet voice. Kelly's enormous height and physical strength had intimidated the girl from the start. Kelly smiled down at her and told her that she was very welcome. She wished them both a good day as the mother had little Aiko don her child-sized gas mask before leaving the clinic. Said masks had to be specially made to fit the smaller heads of children in order to offer maximum protection while outdoors. They were quite expensive, generally equivalent to over a month's salary for the average worker. Even with the expense, there was not a child on Meridian that lacked one. Kelly sighed, reflecting on the financial desperation that would drive loving parent to bring their children to worlds like Meridian as she closed down her compad and went to the clinic's office to eat.

Kelly had been losing herself in her work. It was rather hard not to, really. The only reason she was not slaving away at that moment was because she knew that her body, augmented or not, still required occasional breaks to maintain peak performance. She would have to spare a quick lunch.

Unfortunately, the break meant she had nothing to distract her from thinking about the previous evening. Why had the Master Chief kept that from them? Dr. Halsey had suggested that he was worried they would lose respect for him. That they would think he was weak. Kelly could hardly believe it, but it seemed the most likely answer. How could he be so foolish? After all they'd been through, after all the Master Chief had accomplished, none of them could ever doubt him. She would have to find a way to support him without being too overt about it.

And then there was the subject of Miller. While Kelly wasn't completely in agreement with Dr. Halsey, she had to admit that an unconventional approach would be necessary. Perhaps some level of peaceful coexistence would be possible. After all, Blue Team had worked with rebels to survive following the fall of Reach. That had been for mutual survival in the face of Covenant attack, but they didn't need necessarily need cooperation here; simple apathy would do.

Kelly shook her head before downing her third cup of coffee and heading back to work. Break time was over. She had been careful to only drink one cup while in the presence of Dr. Halsey. The good doctor would only worry unnecessarily.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_This should do,_ Fred thought, examining the training sword he had found in the security station equipment room. He had overheard a conversation amongst his fellow officers in which one of them mentioned that Sgt. Singh was an experienced fencer and had arranged to have some of his supplies stored in the station. Fred picked up one of the swords, testing its weight. While his energy blade did not have a physical "blade," appearing to be merely a hilt when deactivated, the energy field that kept the plasma projected by the device contained provided enough air resistance and physical weight that the practice sword should suffice for now. He could hardly bring his energy blade to the station, after all.

It was fortunate that his normal weapon did have its resistance and weight, considering that without them it would be effectively impossible to use—the blade would move so fast that one's reflexes would be unable to keep up with it, resulting in inevitable injury to the wielder.

"Didn't know you were interested in swordsmanship," Sgt. Singh said from the doorway.

"Yes, sir," Fred responded. "I hope you don't mind, sir, I assumed they were intended for anyone to use them."

Singh chuckled. "Relax, Barton, you were right. Just never expected anyone to actually take an interest. You been fencing long?"

"Yes, sir. Several years. Although I was an experienced melee combatant in the Marine Corps," Fred explained.

Sgt. Singh gave Fred a speculative look. "I bet you were," he said. "Interested in sparring a bit?"

"Absolutely, sir," Fred replied immediately. This could be a valuable bonding exercise that would ingratiate himself further with his superior. While he wasn't as skilled at espionage as Linda, he recognized the value of having his superior on his side. Besides, it would distract him from the Master Chief's story from the previous night. He didn't think the Chief was keeping any more secrets from them, but the doubt was lingering.

The two security officers moved into the exercise room. It was compact and modular, like everything else on Meridian, with little more than a mat on the floor and a few exercise machines packed up on one side.

They began slowly, each feeling out the other's style and defenses. Fred, naturally, held back. Even if he didn't intend to let his Sgt. win, his augmented speed and reflexes would be obvious if he went full tilt. Even so, Singh was proving to be an able combatant, deftly dodging and parrying Fred's probing strikes. Fred wondered just how long he had been a practicing fencer-

Singh struck Fred, winning the round.

_Wait, what?_ Fred thought.

Singh had actually landed a blow when Fred hadn't expected it. The older man had suddenly moved with a speed the Spartan would never have expected from an un-augmented human.

Sgt. Singh had an uncharacteristic smirk on his face. "Once more?" he asked cockily.

Fred steeled his facial expression and nodded. "Lucky shot, old man," he said, his shock momentarily making him forget protocol. Singh laughed, pointing out that Fred wasn't that much younger than him.

Once more they began, with Fred taking his opponent far more seriously. He tried a different approach this time, applying a mix of various forms he had picked up in his studies. Singh made a good accounting for himself, utilizing his inexplicable speed, but in the end Fred was just too much for him.

Fred landed a blow, winning the second round.

The rest of the spar went about as Fred had planned it. He let his Sgt. win a few times, but mostly came out on top. They made their way out of the exercise area and towards the station showers.

"You're good," Singh praised, sweating profusely but with a wide grin on his face. "I haven't had as good a spar in years!"

"Neither have I," Fred lied. While Kelly had never been interested in swordplay, her speed made her devastating with a knife. It had taken Fred years to gain enough skill to surpass her in melee combat. "How did you get so fast?"

Singh chuckled, a look of personal pride on his face. "Experience," he answered. "I've been fencing since I was 10 and mostly stuck to one style my whole life. That fancy maneuvering you do makes you hard to predict, but the fact that I've stuck to one style helped me become more familiar with it than if I had taken the mixed approach you have. So many years have given me a subconscious and muscle memory that decreases my action and reaction time to a level far beyond any young man. I'm moving while the other guy is still thinking about moving."

Fred nodded, understanding. Experience could and often did outweigh physical inferiority.

"Aw, quit you're braggin', old man," Evelyn Collins said from in front of the desk. The path to the showers ran behind the station desk that civilians stood in front of to talk to the officer on watch. Said officer stood to one side to allow his Sgt. to talk to his friend. "There's no denyin' that you and I are both fossils. No point trying to distract people from that," she said with a smile. Singh laughed. Apparently this was an established joke between the two of them.

"And what can I do for you, Ms. Collins?" Sgt. Singh asked.

"Not a damn thing until you clean yourself up. Then I want to take you and the newbie out for a drink," she said.

"Both of us?" Fred asked, confused.

"Yes, both of you," Collins replied. She grew serious, saying, "This concerns you as well."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm worried about your buddy Rogers and our mutual colleague, Miller. Things look like they're about to get out of hand," Collins said after they had all met up at the local bar. It was between meal times, so they had the room to themselves.

Singh grimaced. "Yeah, I was getting worried about that. Nothin's happened yet, but virtually everyone in this precinct knows about Miller's beef with Rogers. And the rest of the new arrivals," he said, glancing at Fred.

Fred thought back to the conversation the night before. Perhaps Collins and Singh could provide an avenue of attack that Blue Team had not had access to before. "Is there anything we can do about it?" he asked his superior.

"Other than offer a stern warning? No, not really," Singh replied grimly. "Theoretically we could have him transferred out if trouble persists, but we can't even get authorization for needed supplies out here. Trying to transfer a person who hasn't caused a disruption yet won't work."

"Damnit, Ajit, there's gotta be something you can do!" Collins objected fiercely.

Singh sighed again. "Alright, I'll bring him in. Give 'im that talking to, maybe hold him overnight. Threatening his pay might work— _that_ I do have some sway over."

"I suppose that'll have to do," Collins responded. "I'll keep working on my end. There's gotta be some way to get through to them. I've gotten to know Rogers and his friends. There's no reason we can't all coexist, even help each other. Once we get them over their problems we can make some real progress."

Singh smiled. "Ha-ha. There you go again, gettin' all hopeful. Don't ever change, Evelyn."

"You could stand to be a little more optimistic yourself, Ajit," she retorted, frowning lightly. Fred could tell this was a conversation they had had before. "A little hope wouldn't hurt you."

Singh's face lost its smile. His eyes showed a combination of weariness and mild amusement. "Afraid any hope I had left in this wrinkled old heart died with my homeworld, ma'am," he said in a soft voice. Singh suddenly regained his gentle smile. "That's what I've got you for. You've got enough starry-eyed optimism for the both of us."

Collins snorted at that, grinning sadly herself. The conversation quickly turned to frivolous topics Fred had no knowledge of nor interest in. Hopefully Singh would straighten Miller out. If not, drastic measures might become necessary.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"C'mon Rogers, I'm not leaving without my good luck charm!" Collins shouted, her voice muffled by her rebreather.

_Does she really think I'm that stupid?,_ the Master Chief thought to himself. He knew Collins was just going to try to convince him to make nice with Miller. She had done so on nearly every occasion they had stuck together in the glasslands, which seemed to be every time they ventured out into it.

They began their walk away from the survey vehicles once the Chief had caught up with her. They were close to the mining site that Fred had visited recently. Linda had hacked into the scheduling system for prospectors and had altered the maps so that the Chief would be able to gather data closer to the positive readings Fred had returned with. It made him nervous; mining was the area that the so-call Governor Sloan had been intended to oversee. The more directly they meddled with it, the greater the chance he would catch on. The last thing they needed was a rampant AI taking notice of them.

The ground they were walking on now was relatively solid. There were no sand dune-like waves of silicates or massive chasms. The ground was a relatively flat plane of dirty black glass, with a few hills here and there. The Chief supposed this was some sort of plains region before the glassing.

It wasn't long before the Master Chief's suspicions concerning Collins' intentions was proven correct.

"So, stop me if you've heard this one," Collins said wryly. "I want you to try talking to Miller."

The Master Chief sighed. He really didn't need this right now. After the discussion the night before, he just wanted to put the whole matter out of his mind for the time being. Not that he was running away from his problems. He would never do that. He was just...tactically retreating. He would regain his bearings and finally deal with Miller within a few days. Enough was enough.

"I don't think that will help," he replied curtly.

Collins sighed. "Look-" She was interrupted by the ground suddenly giving way beneath her, causing her to disappear from the Chief's field of vision.

The Master Chief immediately sprung into action, crossing the dozen meters from Collins' position in just over a second. He peered into the hole, careful not to lose his footing.

"I'm okay," Collins called out. She was sitting at the bottom of the hole, a couple meters from the surface, apparently unharmed. The Chief was not about to take chances, however, and jumped down to give her a more thorough inspection.

"Hey, c'mon, I'm fine!" she objected.

"You just fell into a cavern of sharp silicates. You might very well be far from 'fine'," he responded. "Now hold still and let me check your suit for punctures."

Collins had been lucky. While there were some tears here and there, the thick cloth of her suit had kept her from any serious injury. There were no apparent broken bones and no visible blood.

"Alright, you look fine," the Chief admitted. "You should still stop by the clinic when we get back."

"Aw, I didn't know you cared," Collins teased. She paused a moment before asking, "Hey, how deep does this hole go?"

The Master Chief turned around and noticed that one side of the hole Collins had fallen into opened into a large cavern. He nearly reached for his weapon before remembering it was still located in a mining crate back in Meridian Station. How had he missed that opening earlier?

Collins struggled to her feet. "Let's check it out," she said, turning on her flashlight and moving forward. "There might be some salvage in there."

They had only gone a few meters when Collins abruptly stopped dead in her tracks, transfixed by the sight before her. The Chief couldn't blame her. They had found something he thought Meridian had been stripped of by the Covenant's genocidal assault. They had found life.

There were no people, of course. Nor were there pets, or domesticated animals, or even any kind of advanced life forms. Instead, there was a simple green moss covering the walls and floor, a large pool of stagnant water, and a number of grass hopper-like insects jumping about the floor.

Collins abruptly tore her mask and rebreather off.

"Collins, what are you-"

"Shut up," she interrupted in a quiet voice. "Look at this...just look at this..."

The Master Chief was puzzled. Look at what? From a scientific standpoint it was rather unremarkable. Some rudimentary life forms had managed to survive the glassing inside a cave. It was odd, but hardly unheard of. From an aesthetic standpoint, this was hardly the sort of thing most people would consider appealing. And yet, Collins was looking at the scene with an almost religious awe. She bent down, placing her hand on the ground palm up. She waited a moment, and one of the insects jumped onto her palm. She stood up, the insect's tiny brain apparently deciding it had jumped onto unsteady ground and that the best course of action was to hold on tight until it stabilized.

"Beautiful..." she whispered. Perhaps noticing that he didn't respond, Evelyn Collins looked over to her stoic companion. The Chief noticed that she had begun crying. "Don't you see?" she asked, her voice still a whisper. "It's alive...this place is...it's alive..."

Suddenly, the Chief understood. Collins was a native of Meridian. She had lost everything to the glassing and had been hard at work for years to help bring it back. She believed in what she was doing. And yet, everywhere she went there was nothing but death. The glasslands were completely bare, Meridian Station was not much better...Even the people were probably a drain on her optimism. The Master Chief grimaced behind his rebreather as he realized that he had not been helping in this regard. How many other people had his brewing conflict with Miller hurt?

Here, though...Here, in this cave, there was _life_. Proof that living things could endure the horror that had been inflicted upon this planet. Primitive as it was, as aesthetically disgusting as it would normally be, this place was a sort of vindication for Collins. Proof that her efforts were not in vain. Life could endure here. Life could return here. Meridian could be restored, and human beings like Collins could once again call it home.

The Master Chief had never regretted becoming a soldier. It was something that he was naturally good at and it was important. He enjoyed it. Even if he hadn't been conscripted, he couldn't imagine not becoming a soldier on his own. At that moment, however...looking at Collins as she sunk to her knees, crying tears of joy at the sight of a moss and bug-filled cave...the Chief felt a part of himself wishing he had become something else. It only lasted a moment...but it was there.

John wished he had become a painter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the void above the troubled world of Meridian, a hole was abruptly torn in the fabric of space. A starship passed through and took up orbit around the planet. Out of it's hanger a single Pelican dropship flew before angling down toward the planet itself. Inside, it's occupants observed the planet for the first time through the personnel compartment's viewscreen.

" _That's_ Meridian?" Spartan Buck asked. "Man, what shithole..."

Spartan Tanaka grunted in agreement. "That's what a glassed planet looks like, alright," she said.

Spartan Locke brought their attention back to the mission at hand. "This is where our targets are, people." He set his face behind his polarized faceplate. "Let's hunt them down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, dear readers, the moment has finally arrived. Osiris has reached Meridian. Now let's watch them screw stuff up for everyone!
> 
> Note: Some people have complained that the recent chapters have been largely filler and that I need to get back to the plot already. I like to think I've kept it interesting, but I figure I have to address this. My purpose in this fic is to advance these characters. That's the plot I want. I want to show what they're made of and how they react and grow to these extreme circumstances. As I've gone on writing, I find myself including less action than one might expect from a Halo story. I'm sorry, but that's just how it's been coming out. I didn't plan it this way but that's how I find myself writing it. There will be battles, don't worry, but they'll be relatively infrequent and won't take precedent over character development. Maybe I'm not doing a great job of balancing it. Like I've said before, I'm a newbie writer. Any advice is appreciated and I do thank you for voicing your complaints rather than just abandoning the fic. I have learned a lot thanks to your comments.
> 
> Note: My original purpose in this chapter was to establish a sense of hope for Meridian. I think I've done a good job conveying just how awful a place to live this is, but I also want to show why it's worth believing in. Linda sees a budding romance, Fred sees a meaningful friendship, Kelly sees some cute kids and their loving parents, and John sees a disgusting bug cave. In all seriousness, though, caring about Meridian is important. When the battles eventually come, I want people to actually be rooting for Meridian to be saved. Feedback?
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Look alive, people. Trouble's brewin'" Sgt. Singh said as he made his way into the cramped briefing room. Fred and the other members of their security station were all assembled for the official meeting scheduled for the first work day of each month. Fred's ears perked up at the news, privately hoping his skills might be put to better use. He promptly chastised himself for _hoping_ that civilians would be in danger. Whatever his personal frustrations, his first and greatest duty was to be a protector of humanity.

Strangely, none of the other officers seemed surprised by their Sgt.'s words. Even Singh had made the announcement in a tone of voice that indicated weary resignation rather than concern or fear.

"It's the beginning of the month. You know what that means," Singh continued. Fred's fellow officers nodded and grumbled affirmations. He was definitely missing something. Sgt. Singh began to give out specific duties and updates on security matters as he would at any other briefing. Fred was confused. Sgt. Singh had announced that there was some sort of situation that needed to be monitored at the very least, but then he had continued business as usual. Fred raised his hand to ask the Sgt. what was up. The others would snicker at his ignorance, but that was a small price to pay for not being caught flat footed in the field.

"Yes, Officer Barton?" Singh asked.

"Sir, what did you mean when you said there was trouble? I must have missed something," Fred said in a respectful tone. He didn't want to insinuate that his superior had been negligent in his briefing. As expected, the other officers chuckled at his ignorance. Fred ignored them.

"Good question," Singh replied, refusing to acknowledge the fact that it was obviously a newbie question. "Payday was at the end of last week. Logically, you'd think this would make people _less_ inclined to engage in violent activity, but unfortunately we don't live in a logical world. A lot of people take their money and blow it on booze within a weekend. These people tend to not have the best self control, so when they sober up and realize the money's gone they often get violent." Singh grimaced in disgust. "Domestic abuse is the biggest worry. We'll need to be quick in responding to any calls if we're going to minimize damage. "

"Of course," Sgt. Singh continued, "we also have the other usual cause of unrest: the terraforming has fallen behind schedule again." This announcement was followed by angry groans and signs of impatience. "I know, I know, but Governor Sloan's doing his best. Things'll pick up."

"With all due respect, Sgt., you've been saying that for a while," Delacroix called out. "It's starting to sound old." Fred had gotten somewhat used to the more casual atmosphere of Meridian Security, but he still couldn't believe that Singh tolerated this sort of behavior. Any concerns like this should be made after the briefing in a private conversation, not in the middle of it in front of everyone. This stepped right into the realm of insubordination and undermining of the commanding officer's authority. Singh must have noticed Fred's discomfort as he shot the Spartan a look that clearly communicated that he was not to interfere. Fred nodded.

"I agree," Singh said to Delacroix. "But I trust the Governor. I believe in him. He'll find a way to pull through for us. We just have to hang on for a bit."

The Security Officers half-heartedly grumbled agreement.

Sgt. Singh looked directly at Delacroix. "However, since you seemed so bothered by it, Officer Delacroix, I think it would be a good idea for you to perform the janitorial duties this week. Keep your mind occupied." Delacroix looked distinctly unhappy with that prospect. His fellow officers chuckled in amusement. Fred smiled, happy that the Sgt. hadn't completely lost his mind. Singh brought the briefing back on topic. "Alright, let's go everyone else's specific duties. Everyone is to stay at maximum readiness. That means staying in your vehicle unless absolutely necessary. If you want food, get it before you clock in. If you have to piss, sprint there and back. Noone is dying because we were too busy picking up takeout, you hear me?"

Everyone answered in the affirmative.

"And pray to whatever god there may be that nothing else goes wrong to set people off..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I am uninterested in your problems, Tower," Spartan Locke said to the technician currently in charge of the colony's only starship landing area. Said technician was trying to delay Locke's arrival, saying that the landing pads were all reserved and that the Spartan IV's Pelican dropship would have to wait for one to be cleared. Locke understood what was really going on. The colony's authorities were trying to establish that Locke, to use a rather juvenile phrase, wasn't the boss of them. They were trying to establish themselves as the dominant party. This was not acceptable.

"But sir, we simply need a few hours to-" the tech tried to continue.

Locke cut her off. "We are official representatives of the United Nations Space Command and, by extension, the Unified Earth Government, and we are here on official military business. We do not have time bother with whatever red tape you people are bogged down with. My dropship will be arriving within 30 minutes. If there is not a space free, I will make certain that we land on top of your superior's personal domicile. Understood?"

There was a pause on the other side of the line. "Yes, sir," the technician finally responded. "There will be a landing pad for you by the time you arrive."

"Copy, Meridian Tower. Spartan Locke out." Locke replied before ending the transmission.

Locke looked at the rest of his team. He noticed Tanaka was sitting even straighter than normal and seemed to be making an effort not to look directly at him. He could almost see frustration rolling off of her in waves. He supposed this was to be expected. Back during the briefing Tanaka had all but insisted that Fireteam Osiris take the orbital elevator down to the surface.

" _It's polite, boss,"_ she had said. _"If we just fly in we'll seem like an invading force come to step on them."_ Spartan Vale had nodded in agreement.

" _What, do they not know we're on the same side?"_ Buck had objected. _"Or did they forget that the UNSC is the only thing standing between them and a dozen kinds of alien death?"_

Tanaka's head had turned sharply towards her squadmate. _"They haven't forgotten anything, Buck...from before or after the War."_

" _That's enough, Tanaka,"_ Locke had said. _"You're objection has been noted. However, the plan remains unchanged. We will fly in by dropship and begin our investigation into Blue Team's whereabouts."_

Tanaka was right, of course. Not taking the elevator would be perceived as a show of force. However, the colonists of Meridian were never going to view Fireteam Osiris as anything other than intrusive outsiders. Locke needed to establish from the start that they would not be putting up with any crap, from the authorities or the populace.

Their pilot announced that the Spartan IV's dropship was entering the final approach to Meridian Station and they all got a closer look at the colony through the viewscreen. Short, cramped buildings, crappy roads, toxic atmosphere...Locke reflected that this had to be one of the dirtier cogs in the machine.

True to the technician's word, there was a landing pad available for their use. Their pilot nimbly maneuvered the Pelican onto the pad and began the process of shutting down the engines; he would be staying on the dropship, ready to perform an emergency evac at a moments notice. The Pelican's gunmetal gray paint scheme contrasted strongly with the red and blue company ships taking up the rest of the starport.

Locke got up from his seat and stood in front of the opening ramp. Spartan Buck, Spartan Vale, and Spartan Tanaka stood deferentially behind him. They disembarked, and were immediately greeted by a peacock of a Security Officer and his entourage.

"My name is Captain Jackson," the peacock said. "Might I ask what your purpose here is?" The man had an superior, imperious air about himself. He was clearly accustomed to throwing his weight around and getting his way. Locke, naturally, was not going to play along.

"No, you may not," he answered. Locke then continued walking past Jackson, forcing the outclassed Officer to move to keep up. Jackson's men were understandably unwilling to engage a team of fully armed and armored Spartans, regardless of their immediate superior's wishes. "We are here on official business. We will require an immediate meeting with Governor Sloan in order to arrange for the transference of necessary information and authorizations. I presume this is our transportation," Locke said, referring to what was clearly Jackson's personal vehicle. There was a shoddy looking van directly behind it that Osiris was presumably supposed to take, but Locke felt the need to twist the knife a bit. Just to make sure the message was received.

"Actually-" Jackson began, attempting to rally himself and regain the dominant position in this interaction. Locke wouldn't let him.

"Good," he said, using his armor to wirelessly access the vehicle's control systems. The doors obediently unlocked and the rest of his team climbed into their seats. "We will expect the Administrative Building to be prepared for our arrival. Thank you, Officer."

Locke climbed into the driver's seat, closed the door, and started the vehicle down the road, all the while Jackson stuttered helplessly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fireteam Osiris disembarked their commandeered vehicle directly outside the beached colony ship formerly known as _Skyward Hope._ Locke led the way, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea. He noticed several parents fearfully pull their children back as he passed by them.

The Administrative Building itself was surprisingly well maintained compared to the rest of the colony. Perhaps the fact that it was a beached colony ship made it easier to maintain the interiors. Or maybe it was just its high ranking residents demanding that their home be kept up to snuff. Whatever the reason, Locke was mildly impressed as he bulldozed his way into the office.

"I am Spartan Locke of Fireteam Osiris, here on official UNSC business," he told the secretary outside what was formerly Administrator Adomar's office. They could have gone to the AI core, the high security room that housed the computer systems that Governor Sloan was run on, but Locke had decided that this would be more appropriate. It showed he was dealing with the highest power in the colony. Besides, it wasn't like Sloan had a physical body so he could shake hands with him. Or, rather, so he could stare him down. "We will require an immediate meeting and cooperation with Governor Sloan," Locke continued.

The secretary, to her credit, managed to stay relatively calm in the face of his demands. "I will call him immediately," she said. "Is there anything particular I should tell him you will require?"

"Yes," Locke replied. "I will require complete copies of your personnel and equipment records. All requisitions, reports of missing supplies, etc., will be included. We will also need authorization to access all areas of the colony, restricted access or not, and to utilize any and all equipment in the pursuit of our objective."

The secretary only blinked for a moment before she began furiously typing on her compad. "The Governor will, of course, be asking your intended purpose on Meridian," she said.

"Of course. He may ask us that himself," Locke responded. The secretary nodded and completed the message, sending it to the Governor.

What followed was several minutes of waiting, with Locke remaining directly in front of the secretary's desk. He considered insisting Sloan hurry up, but decided he'd already made his point. Eventually the secretary's compad made a noise indicating a received message.

"The Governor has approved your request," she said. "Unfortunately, he will be unable to meet with you directly at this time. Recent events in the mining areas have demanded his full attention. Here are the records you requested," she said, removing several data cubes from her compad and handing them to the Spartan.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on a direct meeting," Locke insisted. He was not about to be blown off by a senile computer program.

The secretary kept her cool. "I'm sorry, sir, but the Governor is quite insistent. He-"

Locke interrupted her by grabbing her compad and composing and sending a message to the Governor himself. He ignored her outraged protest. A moment later he received a reply. It was clearly an automated response, simply saying that the AI was occupied and could not be reached at this time. Locke was frustrated, but short of going to the AI core and accessing him directly there was little more that he could do. He could send a message to Control and have Sloan stripped of his position, but that would take time. Not to mention the fact that Meridian's profitability made the higher ups hesitant to meddle with its inner workings. He supposed this would have to do. Of course, considering the AI's age it was unlikely they would get anything useful out of a direct conversation. This was probably the most efficient way to go about things, anyway. He handed the secretary her compad back, not bothering to apologize.

"Recent events?" Locke asked after examining the data she had given him. The mining sites were the most likely areas Blue Team would be hiding in. They had not detected any ships in orbit or anywhere near the planet, so they were most likely on the surface. They had no practice at blending into civilian populations and little to no skill in espionage beyond special forces raids. That meant they would be limiting their exposure to the civilian population to that which was necessary to gather supplies. It was possible that they had infiltrated the planet disguised as colonists, but they would not have risked remaining so for long. Osiris would have to search the records for new arrivals that had abruptly vanished as well as missing supplies and disruptions to mining activities.

"Yes, sir," the secretary responded in a clear, direct tone, showing none of the irritation or outrage she had shown a moment ago. Locke's respect for her grew a bit. He wondered if she had any military training. "Just a new find of valuable silicates necessitating a change in schedule. Nothing major."

Locke pondered this. It warranted checking out. "I thank you for your cooperation," he said perfunctorily. "We'll be in touch."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fireteam Osiris, the newly arrived team of Spartan IV's, drove their commandeered vehicle back to the starport. They promptly boarded their dropship and took off, journeying toward one of the mining sites. The Master Chief watched them via the surveillance satellite Blue Team had launched prior to their arrival on Meridian. He fought the urge to sigh as he watched the fireteam on his compad, connected to the sattelite via an uplink hidden on the roof of Icarus Flats; the wire that connected his compad to the uplink had been draped over the side of the building and into the alley where he was currently crouched. The uplink had been necessary because the communication with the satellite was currently being done via laser rather than radio waves. This made it impossible to intercept, but also required a direct line of sight to function. Heavy cloud cover would make this impossible.

The other members of Blue Team were currently performing guard duty on the entrances to the alley. His attention on the compad meant his situational awareness would be decreased to dangerous levels given his current position. The Chief once again cursed the lack of the motion tracker feature of his MJOLNIR armor. Of course, he was not given to overly rely on it even when he did have it.

The arrival of UNSC forces was expected, but still a major obstacle. It might have been wise to go completely underground to avoid detection but Osiris seemed to believe that they had already done so if their current behavior was any indication. It was possible that Linda had indeed avoided all suspicion in her clandestine hobby and that Osiris was working with inaccurate intel on them. It was also possible that they were here for the Guardian rather than the rogue Spartan IIs. Of course, this was a risk the Master Chief couldn't take.

For the immediate future it would be wise to hide in plain sight. Linda had falsified her records and added false profile pictures to remove any hint of their true identities in the personnel files and had made numerous other changes while in administration to prepare for this eventuality. The facial hair, tans, and non-regulation hair styles that the Spartans now sported would also throw off visual identification. They could monitor Osiris' movements and locations by having the satellite system set up to automatically notify them whenever the Spartan IV's moved to another part of the colony. Additionally, they were not where Osisris was currently looking and if they disappeared immediately that would only draw attention.

They could only risk this for a few days, however. Their faces were unknown to the general public, the UNSC wanting to maintain their status as symbols rather than flesh and blood soldiers that could be destroyed, so it would be hard for informants to identify them, but that advantage would only go so far. They were unable to hide their increased size and physique, for example. They would find them eventually.

He silently urged Dr. Halsey's computer programs to finish their work. They were running out of time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I want you to bring Dmitri Ivanov in, Officer Barton," Sgt. Singh said.

Fred nodded, unsurprised. "What did he do this time, sir?"

"Nothing in particular," Singh responded. "I'll justify it with any of the number of complaints we've had about him this week, but really I'm trying to minimize the chances of him causing trouble. I'm having a number of troublemakers brought in..." His face grew deadly serious. "With tensions this high, I'm worried something big might happen."

Again, Fred was unsurprised. The arrival of Fireteam Osiris had occurred at the worst possible time and the group's behavior had been the worst possible. Every ember of anti-UEG and anti-UNSC resentment that the colonists possessed had been fanned into flames. It seemed like everywhere Fred went he learned yet another way the Outer Colonies had supposedly been abused by the UEG. Dmitri Ivanov and his "friends" had been particularly vocal if reports were to be believed.

"By the way," Singh added, "When you let him out in a few days, be sure to give him this." Singh handed Fred a box. Inside were several items which made Fred's mouth drop open. They were medals. Specifically, a Purple Heart, an Armed Force Expeditionary Medal, a Medal of Honor, a Colonial Cross, and several others. If these all belonged to Ivanov, that would make him one of the most decorated soldiers Fred had ever met. He looked to his Sgt. in shock.

Sgt. Singh chuckled, his face a mask of grim humor. "That's right, Barton. Meridian's most notorious drunk is a bona-fide war hero. Crazy world, huh?" he asked.

Fred nodded. "Did you confiscate them last time he was in lockup, sir?" he asked, confused how the Sgt. had wound up with them. Surely Ivanov hadn't been wearing them while he was out drinking, had he?

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Singh responded. "He pawned them for liquor money about a week ago. Cost me a pretty penny to get them back." Singh shook his head, sighing in disappointment. "One of these days I'm not gonna be able to stop that man from destroying himself..."

That did it. Ivanvov would be in lockup for long enough to sober up and when he did Fred was going to talk to him. He could hang around long enough for a conversation before he went into hiding. He had to know how a war hero got like this. He could just read his file, but Fred wanted to talk to the man himself first. He had to know what had happened.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Thanks, doc. I gotta get going," Kelly's patient told her before hurrying out of the clinic and toward home. It was the type of behavior that every one of their patients had displayed in the day since the UNSC's official arrival on Meridian: a nervous impatience to get somewhere they perceived as safe.

"Do you think they know something we don't?" Kelly asked Dr. Halsey.

"No. That's what worries me," she responded. "Tensions have spiked through the roof since the so-called 'Fireteam Osiris' made its appearance. Everyone feels something big is coming, and those not inclined to violence are eager to hunker down and hide."

"Something like what?" Kelly asked, more than a little concerned. It sounded like some kind of uprising was imminent from the way the Doctor was talking.

Dr. Halsey must have read her mind because she smiled in weak assurance. "Don't worry, it's unlikely to be something as extreme as outright rebellion. There isn't enough of a militant edge here for that." She sighed, her frown deepening. "No. What I'm worried about is a riot. Mass, undirected violence born of impotent frustration. It wouldn't take much to set it off. An insult taken too far, a dispute amongst some drunks...I suspect we'll be very busy soon."

Kelly hoped that the burst of adrenaline felt would be enough to overcome her chronic fatigue if Dr. Halsey's prediction proved accurate.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey, Nat', wanna go for a drink?" Cortez asked Linda.

It was towards the end of the workday and they were both about to pack up and head home. Riley exited his office, groped Cortez's rear before she could stop him, and grinned lecherously at Linda before heading out the door, doubtless indulging in some polyamorous fantasy. Cortez looked furious, but quickly calmed into a resigned seething.

Linda quelled her own anger and refocused on Cortez' offer. On the one hand, the last thing she wanted to do was spend extended periods of time in a public space. The risk of discovery was too high for comfort. On the other hand, this could be the culmination of all of Linda's efforts at "befriending" her coworker, and with the arrival of Fireteam Osiris, the Spartan II might very well never return to the Administrative Building after she left it today. This could be her last chance to have an asset placed high in the Meridian command structure. She would have to take the risk.

"You know what...sure, I could use one. Just let me wrap up here," Linda responded. She tried to appear like she was only accepting because of the tense atmosphere throughout the colony over the last day since Osiris' arrival. Cortez seemed to believe her.

Linda sent a message to the Master Chief letting him know of her plans. He responded immediately, giving her the go ahead. Excellent. Linda packed up her compad and joined Cortez in leaving the Administrative Building _._ They boarded a shuttle and eventually made their way towards the area where the working class outer ring met the more elite interior of the colony. Linda looked to Cortez questioningly.

"I've got a friend that works out here," she explained. "I help him sneak an extra crate of supplies in each month and he gives me good deals on booze." Linda nodded in understanding. No matter what position they held, everyone on Meridian seemed to love to drink.

On the shuttle ride over Linda heard several other passengers discussing the recent arrival of the Spartan IVs. They spoke in hushed tones, apparently afraid of being overheard, and their voices oscillated between outright fear and deep-seeded resentment.

"I heard they threatened to bomb the Administrative Building if they weren't given a landing pad immediately."

"I heard they shot a Security Officer just so they could use his car."

"I saw them once they got into the inner city. They charged right through the crowd like they didn't even see them. They even started shoving kids out of the way if they didn't move fast enough! Bastards gave one of 'em a concussion!"

"I heard they're here to confiscate the whole planet. Put us all under federal control, revoke our rights to the land once it's terraformed. Sons of bitches are here to take our claim!"

Linda knew that these claims were exaggerated. She had seen the satellite footage of Osiris' arrival and had listened in on their communications to the starport control. It seemed the rumor mill was one industry that was _not_ in dangerous neglect and disrepair on Meridian. She knew better than to try to change their minds, however. Her cover was as an administrative employee—an authority figure. She would only be perceived as defending an oppressive government if she spoke up.

Cortez and Linda made their way inside a cafeteria/bar. It was separated into 3 main areas. The first area contained various food stations. Some stations allowed the diner to pick up a boxed, pre-prepared meal while others allowed the diner to order something fresh from one of the 2 overworked chefs. It was separated from the other sections by cashier stations that could have doubled as military checkpoints, given how focused on security they were.

The second was the seating area for regular diners. It was sparse in decoration, with bare industrial lights providing rather dim illumination. It contained a number of bare, gray, metal foldable long-tables with seats welded to them. Linda imagined they could be folded up and pushed to the wall to clear the entire center of the building in fairly short order. It would have looked right at home in any military base.

The third was the bar area. If Linda had to pick 2 words to describe it, they would be 'impoverished extravagance.' The area was lit by ornate hanging lights covered in translucent plastic meant to look like stained glass. There was a long bar-like table towards the back wall behind which the bartender would stand and serve drinks, with a wall of shelves filled with various liquors behind him. There was a single row of stools in front of the bar and several booths with small tables of their own. All of the furniture was plastic and metal, like the rest of Meridian, but they had been covered with decals to make them appear to be made of hard wood. Even the walls and ceiling were covered in some kind of wallpaper meant to emulate upper class, terrestrial establishments. Whatever effect they had been intended to have was long since ruined, since time and usage had made them a mess of stains, rips, and peelings.

Cortez and Linda sat down on 2 available stools in front of the bar. Linda noticed that the atmosphere in the bar and dining areas was abnormally quiet and tense. She noticed several glares directed toward the pair. They were both working in administration; they would be viewed as extensions of the authorities by the working class colonists who made up the bulk of the patrons here. She would have to make this as quick and quiet as possible. "Tequila on the rocks," Cortez ordered, apparently blind to the nature of her surroundings. The bartender nodded, then looked to Linda.

Linda scanned the menu. Everything there seemed unfeasibly expensive. She decided on a simple beer, assuming it would be cheapest and lightest in alcohol content. She had never ingested recreational alcohol before but she trusted that her augmented physiology would be able to effectively handle one drink. To be certain she remained alert and capable she also ordered some nuts to eat along with the beer, thus minimizing the effect of the alcohol.

"Light drinker, huh?" Cortez teased. Linda grinned and shrugged in response. "Hard time fitting in on Meridian, then. We _love_ our booze here, and only settle for quality."

"Damn well better be quality, for these prices," Linda joked. Jests about high prices were a universal standard among human societies; it was a fairly safe bet they would be accepted here.

Cortez laughed. "Hah. Damn right. But, I guess that's just our creature comfort here," she mused. "I've been to a bunch of mining worlds in my career and I'll be damned if each one of them wasn't obsessed with one ridiculous luxury or another. I remember one world where everyone would buy these expensive, gold-plated compads. _Gold-plated,_ I shit you not."

Linda raised her eyebrows appreciatively and chuckled along with her.

Cortez shook her head and sighed. "Maybe I should have settled down _there_ , instead. Gold compads don't make you pass out in public, at least." She looked Linda in the eyes as she continued. "Look, I imagine you know I didn't invite you drinking just because."

Linda nodded. She had a pretty good idea where her coworker was going with this. She was not prepared, however, for how deep she would be going.

"I wanted to thank you for helping set me up with Amare," she said, her tone dead serious. "I could say you don't know how much it means to me, but that doesn't capture the magnitude of it. You really _don't_ know how much it means to me." Cortez took a drink of her tequila. Linda took a sip of her beer out of solidarity. "I just joked about settling down, but I mean it. I'm done wandering. I want to set down roots somewhere, find a man, and pump out a few kids. Family is important to me. It has been since I was a kid," she said.

Linda decided to respond in a half-joking tone. "Didn't picture you as the 'mom' type," she said.

Cortez smirked mockingly and took another drink. "Don't start thinking I aim to be some stay-at-home ovary on legs," she insisted. "I'm a career woman, through and through. Hell, if _Riley_ couldn't run me off, nothing can, right?"

Linda smiled and nodded again, signaling the affirmation Cortez obviously expected.

"Seriously, though...I think Amare and I have a real thing," Cortez said softly. "He's responsible, caring, we've got a _ton_ in common...I think I can build a real future with him. And that might not have happened if you hadn't given him a little nudge." Cortez looked directly at Linda again. "I don't know why you did it. Maybe you wanted to make up for being so stuffy all the time, maybe you just root for that kind of thing, hell, maybe you're just playing god, but whatever the reason, you did a good thing for me. I won't forget that."

Linda nodded, secretly jubilant about her unqualified success. Her response was a simple, "Sure." However, something started to bother her. "Mind if I ask you a question?" Cortez nodded. "If you wanted to settle down, why do it here? Why on Meridian?"

"Because unlike our coworker Riley, may his dick be shredded by a sudden wind, I actually know a thing or two about business. Specifically, about investment," she explained. "More specifically, about long-term investment. Meridian is long-term. Without question. But one day, it'll be finished with its terraforming. One day, it'll become a center for travel and trade in this sector. After the War, the landscape of this part of UEG space changed a lot. New planets to colonize have been found, others remain glassed, some systems have been declared unsafe for the immediate future...in 20 or 30 years Meridian will be bigger than it ever was before. Bigger than anything in this part of space. And my family will be in on the ground floor. We'll have all the connections and inside information we need to really make it out here. Maybe it won't happen until I'm an old woman. Hell, with the quality of living here maybe I won't live to see it at all. But one day my family will be on top." Cortez got a starry-eyed, dreamer look on her face. Abruptly, she steeled her features and raised her glass in front of Linda. The Spartan picked up her glass and raised it as well. "To the future," Cortez toasted, clinking her glass against Linda's. They both drank.

"And just who's future is that? Yours?" A gruff, angry voice said from behind them. Linda turned around to see a group of 4 men approaching them. She cursed herself for becoming distracted by Cortez' speech. "And what about our future, huh? You UEG pukes ever think of that?"

Cortez, belatedly, seemed to realize the danger they were in merely being out here. "We're not-"

The apparent leader of the group was uninterested in what she had to say. Linda could tell from the look on his face that he had not come here to talk. "Of course not," he said. "You people never think of anything but yourselves. You just fly on in wherever you want, taking over, taking what people have sweat and bled to build." His face grew red with rage. As he and his group got closer Linda could smell alcohol on each of their breaths. She glanced around and saw no members of Meridian Security present; even the bartender had mysteriously vanished. "You ever bled for anything? Huh?!"

Tactically, the best course of action would be to retreat. She could spring from her stool and be halfway to the exit before these drunks had even realized she had moved. Once outside she could easily outrun any pursuit. She was not as fast as Kelly, but she was still a Spartan, and none of these aggressors were likely to have their own vehicles.

Cortez, however, was not augmented. She was not as fast, or as strong, or as accustomed to adapting to a violent situation. Linda could tell from her breathing that Cortez was fighting off panic. There was no way she could get away on her own.

The leader moved to grab Cortez. Linda reacted faster than the human eye could follow, grabbing a stool and shoving the man in the chest. The man went flying backward, falling to the ground and sliding to a stop at least 3 meters away. She hoped this would be enough to discourage his entourage.

It wasn't.

The other 3 surged forward. Linda smacked one in the face with the seat of the stool, immediately ducking beneath the swings of the other 2 and using her improvised weapon to trip them up before delivering a swift kick to each of their chests, leaving them writhing on the ground in agony.

Unfortunately, by that point other diners had apparently decided to join the attack and Linda soon found herself facing down several dozen opponents. "Run!" she shouted to Cortez, knowing that there was little hope of escape but even less hope of survival if the office worker remained here. Cortez remained rooted in place, too terrified to move.

Linda moved with all of the speed, agility, and raw combat power she had honed over decades of ceaseless war. She used her unmatched precision to turn the nearby glasses and bottles into ballistic weapons, each one impacting an eye, neck, or groin. She dodged strikes with her augmented speed and reflexes, broke limbs with effortless precision, sent people flying with her enhanced strength...but she was still only one person. Her survival had always been due to her skill at avoiding detection, killing from the shadows. It was what had allowed her to be a lone wolf. Here, though, she was in an open, lit area, surrounded by enraged people who wanted her dead, and desperately trying to defend a civilian.

It was only a matter of time before someone got a lucky shot in. It came when Linda was not expecting it, in the form of a blinding pain in her left leg.

Someone had stabbed her.

Linda turned and smashed a liquor bottle she had picked up across her attacker's face. But the damage had been done. With her leg injured her mobility was greatly diminished, and she had been hemmed in from the start. She felt another blade slash across her back. She whirled as best she could, delivering a chop to the neck that rendered the man helpless on the floor.

Someone stabbed her in the back.

Linda felt the blade sink deep before being pulled back out. She tried to turn, only to have someone grab her from behind and attempt to put her in a choke hold. Set set her feet, favoring her uninjured leg, and flipped the man over her head, sending him crashing into a booth table which promptly collapsed to the floor. She stood back up, bleeding profusely from several wounds, and faced the rest of her attackers.

The entire building had erupted into chaos. Men and women of all occupations and classes were attacking each other with whatever was available, from cutlery to their own fists. Apparently some diners had tried to rush to her defense. Or maybe they felt it was as good a time as any to settle their own grudges. Or maybe there was no logic to it at all, no reason, just frustrated, frightened people lashing out at the nearest living thing they didn't personally identify with.

A heavy, metal pipe struck her on the side of the head.

Linda collapsed to the floor, her vision blurry, as helpless as the man she had chopped on the neck mere moments ago. She saw the vague outline of a man appear above her. She couldn't focus enough to make out his features. She tried to power through the pain, but her injuries were adding up. She was unable to resist when the man planted his boot on her chest, gripped the pipe with both hands, and raised it over his head, preparing to bring it down on her skull. Her bones were coated in near-indestructible material during her augmentations, but the impact would be enough to do serious damage. It would render her completely helpless, perhaps for long enough to bleed to death on the floor.

Suddenly, another blur shoved her attacker out of her field of vision. Had one of her siblings come to save her? She managed to turn her head and saw the two struggling in close quarters combat. No. It was not one of her family. Her rescuer was not as skilled as her attacker, and quickly found himself on the floor next to her, their opponent raining down blows upon him. She could hear bones crack under the repeated strikes on his chest, arms, and face. Linda couldn't move. She was having difficulty breathing; it was possible she had a pierced lung. The last thing she managed to do before losing consciousness was focus on the face of the man who had come to her rescue.

It was Yao Miller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I hope I didn't make Locke out to be unreasonably aggressive. He's not an idiot. He's just used to being able to intimidate his way through his problems and he thinks peaceful cooperation with the people of Meridian is a lost cause. It's a bit like the Master Chief's perception of Miller, only John's less of an asshole about it.
> 
> Note: Cortez' motivation is taken pretty much completely from one of the audio logs in Halo 5. Seriously, if the main plot was as good as the collectible logs, the game would have been amazing.
> 
> Note: So, another action scene...kinda. I know Linda would be more than a match for random colonists, but numbers can overwhelm. Spartans are still mortal, after all. Still, as short as it was I hope it was exciting. I got some criticism for the first action scene I had back in chapter 2 and I actually went back and rewrote that part to fix it. Did I do better this time?
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Simulation complete, sir. Forerunner object designated 'Guardian' is neutralized with 0% losses amongst _Infinity_ Task Force. Electronic Warfare suite neutralized defenses as predicted," the technician told Captain Lasky. They were on the bridge of the UNSC _Infinity_ , and they had just completed their 5th simulated battle with a Forerunner Guardian. Each one had ended in success.

"Excellent work, Captain," Major Ackerson complimented. "The Guardian won't know what hit it."

Lasky frowned and resisted the urge to inform the ONI Officer that he did not require her approval. "Simulations are not the same thing as reality, Major," he reminded her instead. "They can only account for the challenges we can predict. While I have every confidence in the competence and professionalism of my crew," he said, aware of the technicians, officers, and various servicemen who were pretending not to listen, "real battles rarely go as expected. No battle plan survives contact with the enemy, after all."

"Of course, Captain," she replied dutifully. Lasky noticed that she always referred to him by his title rather than 'sir' or any other honorific. Another bit of proof that ONI did not like him very much. It was funny, how that fact would make most men too terrified to function.

_Ah, well. Cost of doing business, I suppose,_ he thought wryly.

"Do you think we will be able to complete our journey now?" Ackerson asked.

Captain Lasky suppressed a sigh. "I believe that would be a bad idea," he answered. "As I have stated before, the political situation in this part of space is fragile. The UNSC's most powerful warship, and its accompanying fleet of frigates and fighter wings, could stir tensions beyond the point of control."

Major Ackerson was not deterred. "Surely we would be able to handle any potential trouble. I, too, have every confidence in the power and leadership of the _Infinity_ ," she argued, once again smiling that greasy smile of hers. This time Lasky did sigh. He couldn't help it.

"I appreciate the confidence, Major," he lied, "but I'm afraid my decision stands."

Ackerson nodded. "Very well, Captain. Unless you require my presence, I will go to attend my duties." It was more of a statement than a request. It made sense, considering she was in a different chain of command than the Captain, but it was still grating to hear on his own bridge. He nodded in consent and Ackerson left the bridge.

Captain Lasky looked back at the com-screen in front of his command chair and brought up an orbital image of Meridian. No...sending a single frigate to deliver Fireteam Osiris had indeed been the right call. ONI may be arrogant and ruthless enough to ignore the cost of such overt displays of military dominance, but he was not. He just hoped Locke hadn't ruffled too many feathers when he arrived.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Calling all cars, repeat, calling all cars, we have an Alpha-101 taking place in the 'Waterloo Pub,'" the station Security Officer said through the radio in Fred's vehicle. "Repeat, we have an Alpha-101 taking place in the 'Waterloo Pub'. All available units report to Sgt. Singh on-site. Repeat, all available units report to Sgt. Singh on-site. Over."

Fred's current partner immediately twisted the steering wheel, making an illegal u-turn and pushing the vehicle to its maximum possible velocity in order to get to the location of the reported riot as swiftly as possible.

They arrived within 5 minutes to find the street outside Waterloo Pub crowded with security vehicles. At least 50 officers were present, including Sgt. Singh. Singh began barking orders as soon as Fred, apparently the last of the responders, arrived.

"Alright, listen up!" he shouted. "I've looked at the security feed and it's bad in there. People are tearing each other apart. So far, this is the only reported incident of mass violence, but once word of this spreads it could set off more across the city. Governor Sloan has declared a state of emergency and recommended all civilians remain indoors until given the all-clear. For now, it's our job to settle these people down so that the EMTs," Singh gestured to the group of 4 ambulances that had just arrived on scene, "to begin applying medical services to the injured."

Sgt. Singh then ordered the officers to put on the riot gear that had been transported to the scene via a large Security shuttle. In reality it was all the same gear Fred had worn on his excursion to the mining site several days ago, just some armored plates strapped to the limbs and torso as well as a helmet, but every little bit helped.

More interesting was the non-lethal riot weaponry they would be using. Normally riots were confronted by tear gas and bean bag rounds. Here, though, Fred found that they would be using advanced auditory weaponry. Specifically, hand-held devices that resembled a rectangular sheet of thick metal with an attached handle and an unusual coating on the exterior side. Said device would project painful sound waves in only one direction, away from the user, making it a precision deterrence device. It was impressive, and far more expensive than the normal equipment. So much so that Fred was surprised they could afford it. He remarked on this to one of his fellow officers.

"You can thank the Governor for that," the officer responded. "He decided that the normal tech would present an unacceptable health risk to the average Meridian citizen and managed to wrangle some better gear."

Fred nodded in understanding. The average person tended to underestimate the potential damage riot gear could inflict on a person. Bean bag rounds were theoretically non-lethal, but if they hit a sensistive spot like an eye, neck, or groin, they were quite capable of inflicting permanent damage if not death. Fred remembered the dread he had felt during his training when the instructors had used rubber bullets during live fire exercises, which carried many of the same risks. Tear gas was also problematic. In fact, the name "tear gas" was misleading as what the chemical weapon actually did was irritate the mucus membranes in human beings, particularly those involved in sight and respiration. They caused excruciating pain and irritation in the nose, mouth, and throat, which could interfere with breathing. Given the commonplace lung disorders, and the general increased wear that all Meridian citizens' respiratory tracts were victim to, it was rather wise that "tear gas" use had been avoided here. There was some danger of hearing damage, but that was far less threatening than interrupted breathing.

20 Officers, including Fred, finished gearing up and entered the building. The remaining officers would remain outside to be ready to respond to any other nearby events, with Singh acting as coordinator. The building was too cramped to allow for any more to move efficiently. There were other groups of riot police in the colony's other districts, ready to perform the same tasks. Fred was impressed by the efficiency and professionalism Meridian Security displayed in the face of a mass disturbance. Most places didn't do nearly as well in similar circumstances.

They entered the 'Waterloo Pub'. 10 Officers moved in first, crouching and carrying transparent riot shields to protect from blows and ballistic weapons. The second 10 walked behind them, ready to fire the auditory devices above the shield bearers and being prepared to crouch behind them if targeted by rioters. Fred was one of the ones carrying a shield, Singh having recognized his strength and durability.

They entered the building to find it engulfed in chaos. It had been packed with diners when the riot started, work having just let out, and hundreds of people were present. Many of them were now lying on the ground between the tables and active rioters, some unconscious, some simply bleeding or cradling broken body parts. Only a few of them were cognizant enough of their surroundings to notice the officers entering the building.

The Officer in command gave the order to activate the auditory weapons. Every rioting colonist not already incapacitated reacted in pain to the sonic waves bombarding them, waves completely inaudible to the Security force. Many turned towards the Officers, some viewing them as threats and throwing objects at them. The shield bearers did their jobs. Some rioters were able to push through the pain and move to attack. They were shoved back by the shields and occasionally struck with the hard plastic clubs the officers all carried.

Fred lifted his shield up, using his augmented reflexes to block a knife someone had thrown at the officer behind him. The sonic waves briefly bounced off his shield and hit him, but he weathered it well enough. Once the rioters had been driven towards the opposite side of the room the Security force split into 2 groups, herding them towards one corner. Several more officers entered the building then, moving in to subdue anyone too injured to move but not quite injured enough to be considered a non-threat.

After a few more moments of sustained bombardment the commanding Officer gave the order to cease firing. He instructed the civilians to lay down on the ground with their hands splayed out in front of them. The newly arrived Officers gestured and pantomimed the order for the benefit of those who could no longer hear the instructions. Some complied, but others resumed throwing things and some even attempted to rush the re-formed single group.

The commander ordered precision targeting of the troublemakers, not wanting to further antagonize those who had already submitted. Once again, the shield-bearers did their jobs. The aggressors were repulsed and eventually all of the rioters settled down.

Every civilian not already incapacitated was summarily cuffed with plastic zip ties. They could be removed at the discretion of the EMTs, under supervision of an Officer.

Fred quietly sighed in relief. It was nice to end hostilities without killing anyone for a change.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kelly resisted the urge to pace nervously while ignoring her latest unexplained headache. She and Dr. Halsey were among those who had responded to the emergency call for EMTs to immediately go to Waterloo Pub to offer treatment to victims of some sort of riot. She was worried about the civilians, to be sure, but she was also concerned that one of her siblings might be inside. She had spotted Fred earlier about to go in but she was confident he could handle himself, especially with competent back-up. John or Linda, however, would probably be alone, surrounded, and fighting people too crazed to know who not to engage in a fight.

Dr. Halsey put a hand on her shoulder. Somehow, she had seen Kelly's discomfort despite the Spartan's attempt to hide it. How did she _do_ that?

"Take it easy, Carol, we'll be in there shortly" she said, using Kelly's cover name. This reminded the Spartan of exactly where she was and helped her refocus on the situation from a professional perspective. Kelly nodded. Dr. Halsey smiled.

Finally, Sgt. Singh gave them permission to enter the building and begin treating the injured. Kelly rushed to the door, Dr. Halsey practically having to sprint to keep up. What the Spartan saw inside reminded her all too much of similar scenes she had seen in the near-30 year long Human-Covenant War.

The injured and dying were everywhere. Injuries ranged from bruises to broken bones to what were clearly stab wounds. The cafeteria's stocking of non-disposable cutlery had saved space on trash, but had cost dearly today. She could already identify at least 5 fatalities just from the way they were lying on the ground; a living body just looked different than a dead one. Dr. Halsey pushed ahead of her and moved swiftly to the largest group of heavily injured civilians. There were a large number of them by the bar area. They looked like they had tried to pick a fight with a Sangheili, they were so brutally and efficiently neutralized.

Kelly began examining and treating injured colonists. Staunching blood loss was first priority, followed by closer examination and treating of other wounds. Kelly struggled to concentrate. She had to shake herself several times and refocus her vision on her task. She also lost track of which patients she had already treated before catching a glimpse of the bandages she had applied. Maybe she should move on to more powerful stimulants than coffee...

Normally Kelly would be making liberal use of biofoam, a compound injected into deep wounds that staunched bleeding, applied anti-biotics, aided in tissue regeneration, and generally kept a person alive until further treatment. It had saved countless lives, including each one of the Spartan IIs. Unfortunately, supplies were low on Meridian, meaning she had to save the biofoam for only the most dire cases.

She saw one such case when she noticed Michelle Cortez desperately trying to wave her over. Cortez had a gash across her forehead and seemed to be suffering from some bruises given the way she was moving, but was otherwise unharmed. The woman she was cradling in her lap, however, was...

Kelly's blood ran cold. "Doctor!" she shouted, only barely restraining herself from addressing Halsey by her true name. Her mother looked at her, followed her gaze, and rushed to her fallen daughter almost as quickly as Kelly did. Cortez got up, giving the 2 supposed medical technicians space to work. She hovered nearby, crying, and with a worried expression on her face.

Linda wasn't moving. She was clearly unconscious. Her breathing was shallow. Kelly couldn't help but remember Linda's near fatal injury during the fall of Reach. She told herself that her sister hadn't survived that just to die now.

Dr. Halsey only needed a moment to run a medical scanner over Linda before ordering Kelly to immediately administer biofoam. One of Linda's lungs had collapsed and the foam would inflate it enough for oxygen to enter. It wouldn't be enough for a regular supply, but it would buy time. Dr. Halsey moved Linda to the top of the list of colonists requiring advanced treatment.

"I'll have to stay with her now," Halsey told Kelly. "She'll need surgery, but we can't allow anyone but the 2 of us to perform it. It will be impossible to hide her augmentations from them. I'll clear it with the hospital. Right now I need you to continue treating the colonists. We can't both be hovering over 1 patient, and it's our duty to help as many as we can anyway." Kelly looked up from Linda in disbelief. She couldn't mean it!

Dr. Halsey put her hand on Kelly's shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. "I promise you I will heal her. I won't lose another one of you. I won't allow it," she said with absolute conviction. Kelly had to smile at her mother's almost arrogant self-confidence. She clearly believed she could accomplish anything if she needed to. It was no mystery where John got that part of his personality from. John...

Kelly tore her sterile gloves off, stained with Linda's blood, grabbed her compad, and sent a message to the Master Chief informing him of what had happened. She knew he would be by Linda's side as fast as he could sprint there from his current location.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The room was dark. Wait...no, her eyes were closed. She couldn't quite remember why. It was hard to think...

She could tell she was in pain. Her chest and head ached, and she could feel a stabbing pain in her lung every time she took a breath. Yet...the pain didn't bother her. She could still feel it. It just seemed...rather unimportant.

_Painkillers,_ she thought, her mind beginning to clear. Why was she on painkillers? She was having difficulty remembering where she had been. She could hear voices.

"Can we really afford to delay surgery?" one voice, a male one, asked. It seemed familiar...

"We have no choice," another voice, older and female, answered. "If her cover is blown we will all be dead. If we're lucky. I've arranged enough treatment that she should be fine until I can arrange the surgery."

"There has to be a way to bump her up the list," the first voice insisted. Why couldn't she remember who that was? It felt so important.

"I can't because Meridian's medical system is painfully understaffed and underequipped," the second voice answered back. "There are only a few surgical suites on the planet capable of performing the surgery Linda needs and they're currently being used." The second voice took on a bitter tone. "Several of the wounded were Inner Colonists and, administrative employee or not, Linda's cover is as an Outer Colonist. There's no written policy, but there's an unspoken understanding. Priority treatment goes against us here. If I try to bump her up, it will get noticed. Not to mention the fact that I will have to be the one performing the surgery." The second voice paused before continuing in a softer tone. "I won't let her die, John."

John...John! The Master Chief! Linda suddenly remembered who the voices belonged to: Blue Lead, her leader and older brother, and Dr. Halsey, her creator and mother. She must have been critically wounded somehow.

Linda had a stoic personality and demeanor hardened by decades of war. She was strong...but it was still comforting to have them here. Not that she would ever admit it, of course.

"We'll have to take that risk," the Master Chief said, still addressing Dr. Halsey. "Hack into their system and do what you need to do."

The Chief was about to jeopardize their mission on her account. This was unacceptable.

"Don't..." Linda whispered, forcing her eyes to open. She could see John and Dr. Halsey standing on opposite sides of the bed she was lying on. Judging by the sterile room and medical equipment around her, she deduced that she was in a hospital. Linda suppressed a grimace. She disliked hospitals...

"Linda, we need to-" the Chief began. Linda interrupted him.

"I'll be...okay," she said, managing a higher volume this time. "I trust Dr. Halsey...and I can take this." Linda did her best to smile at him. "I have had worse, if you'll recall."

John smiled back at her. "...Very well," he said. "But if your condition worsens you're going to the top of the list. That's an order," he said, addressing both her and Dr. Halsey. The good doctor frowned, but nodded, accepting his authority. She clearly still didn't like being told what to do.

Linda started to remember what had happened. A UNSC fireteam had arrived...a squad of Spartan IVs. She had gone out drinking with Cortez, needing to finish developing her into an asset before going underground. Then...the colonists. The riot. She'd been wounded. And then...

Linda's eyes widened. "Blue Lead," she said. The Master Chief turned back to her. "Something happened...with Miller."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Riots. No matter where I go, I see riots,_ Spartan Tanaka thought to herself.

They had just returned from scouting the mining sites. Locke had wanted to get a good look at them from the air rather than relying on surveillance footage from the frigate in orbit. They had visited all of the likely locations, taking photographs and various passive scans from high in the atmosphere. Scanning all of the sites had taken the better part of 24 hours. After it was done they returned to Meridian Colony's main settlement.

Which had suffered several riots that had been touched off by their arrival.

Tanaka went back to glaring at the back of Spartan Locke's helmet as they walked down the exit ramp of their Pelican. She'd _told_ him to take the elevator. To be polite. But no. Like all the other federal authorities she'd ever dealt with, he just had to bulldoze his way towards what he wanted. Asshole.

At least the violence here was relatively tame. It had been limited to a few incidents of mass disturbance across Meridian Station. Local security had done an admirable job responding with non-lethal force. There had barely been any deaths. By the time the day ended the people had mostly calmed down and the local government was able to treat the wounded and start rebuilding. With little to no help from the UEG or UNSC.

_Same shit, different day,_ Tanaka thought, remembering the riots of her youth.

She had grown up during the Human-Covenant War on the Outer Colony of Minab. She remembered the endless stream of refugees escaping the Covenant invasion, either trying to settle on Minab or trying to get further away from the enemy that had glassed their homeworlds. She remembered the endless makeshift ghettos and tent cities that filled every nook and cranny. Most refugees wanted to keep going but the only way to go from Minab was towards the Inner Colonies, who weren't interested in taking on such a burden. The issues of delayed visas and suspiciously extensive red tape were frequent topics of conversation on the news reports Tanaka remembered from her childhood.

There had never been enough supplies for everyone. Between the Covenant glassing agrarian worlds and interrupting trade, food was hard to come by throughout the Outer Colonies. Even commandeering private land and demolishing nature preserves to grow crops wasn't enough. Combined with poor living conditions, resentment among many of Minab's native citizens, and their inability to seek shelter in the more secure Inner Colonies, the hunger produced many incidents of mass violence.

Tanaka had grown up in a world of constant danger from her own species. The local law enforcement and Army units were unable to really maintain order and the UEG was uninterested in sending help. You could generally avoid riots if you knew where to hide and didn't have a family to worry about, like Tanaka, but there was no avoiding the scumbags who preyed upon the helpless. From muggers to corrupt police, human predators had been an omnipresent plague. Even after the War ended things were still unstable at best on Minab. At least, that's what she had heard. She had enlisted as soon as she had been old enough, looking to escape through military service. She had no interest in ever going back.

Locke led them to a vehicle he had rented from the local government. Apparently he didn't feel like calling up Security so he could hijack another of their vehicles. Fireteam Osiris piled into the vehicle and went to the Administrative Building. Tanaka wondered what Locke was going to try to bully out of the local leadership this time.

The secretary in front of Administrator Adomar's former office maintained an impressively welcoming face when they approached her. Tanaka would probably be shouting at them to go away and that she had better things to do than listen to them bitch.

"Ah, Spartan Locke. How can I help you?" the secretary asked in a mildly cheerful tone.

_Whatever they pay you, it's not nearly enough,_ Tanaka thought to herself.

"It's my understanding that there have been some incidents of violence while we've been away," Locke said.

"Yes, most regrettable," the secretary answered in a more somber tone. Tanaka thought it seemed genuine. "Thankfully the Security forces managed to handle it rather well. It's mostly over now"

"Be that as it may," Locke began. Tanaka felt a spike of dread. What was this ONI prick going to demand? "I wish to offer any assistance we can."

Tanaka did a double take.

The secretary blinked. "I...thank you for the offer. What did you have in mind?"

"Primarily I was thinking we could use our Pelican to shuttle some of the more critically wounded to the frigate in orbit. We have a full medical suite onboard," Locke answered, to Tanaka's shock. "We won't be able to handle many, but it should take some of the load off of your hospitals."

"I...yes, I think that would work," the secretary answered, seeming as surprised as Tanaka felt. "I'll give you the comm number of the medical administrator and you can arrange it with him." Locke nodded and the two of them made arrangements.

Some time later Locke and the rest of Fireteam Osiris left to head to their temporary quarters elsewhere in the Administrative Building. On the way there he opened a private comm channel between him and the rest of his team. "Contrary to popular belief," he said, "ONI agents do not surrender their souls during basic training."

Tanaka wasn't entirely convinced of that. She doubted Buck was, either. If Locke were really so nice he wouldn't have caused so much trouble in the first place. Plus, it's not like this erased all of the bad treatment men like him had inflicted on places like Meridian. Compared to that, treating a few injured colonists was a cheap band-aid. Still, it was a pleasant surprise that her squadleader at least knew how to _act_ human from time to time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_What am I doing?_ John asked himself.

He was currently walking through the intensive care ward of Meridian's main hospital, a floor down from Linda's room. He was going to visit someone he had previously contemplated killing. He was going to visit Yao Miller, former Insurrectionist bomber.

The hallway was busy. Volunteers rushed this way and that, performing whatever menial task that needed performing, thus freeing up the regular staff for more important duties. The civilian population had turned out in massive numbers to support their injured comrades. Fred had arrived before John left Linda and he said that many of the uninjured rioters had themselves volunteered after they had been processed.

The Master Chief marveled at the industriousness with which these civilians stepped up to aid their community. He saw people removing waste bins and cleaning bed pans with hardly a complaint. From what Fred had related, such efforts were mirrored all over the colony. Repairs should be completed, and full work resumed, within a few days. Was it guilt that drove them? Did even innocent bystanders feel some responsibility for what had happened?

Then again, the entire system had impressed him. Apparently Governor Sloan had merely improved upon an already detailed and efficient system of disaster management which had already been put in place by Administrator Adomar. Said efforts had proven prescient as Meridian began experiencing repeated incidents of civil unrest over the following years.

John wished said efficiency extended to the surgery list. Even with the unexpected assistance of the UNSC forces it would still likely take days for Linda to get the surgery needed to return her to combat readiness. Apparently, they would have to clone an entire new lung for her and implant it. Such a procedure would normally be nothing major. Kelly had actually had several organs replaced in this manner. The problem was that they needed very specific equipment to do it, and that equipment was in short supply. In the meantime...

The Chief arrived at his destination. Miller's room. He was unsure what he was expecting to learn in this visit. Whatever it was, however, he needed to know it. They both did. He opened the door and stepped inside.

It was a small room. Unlike most others in the hospital, it only contained one bed. It seemed to be a converted storage closet of some sort. There was no window, and only a single chair and table by Miller's bed. The Chief set his compad down on the table, careful to place it so that the built in camera had a view of the patient. Linda would be watching a live stream of the conversation. They both wanted answers.

The kid looked bad. He was covered in bandages, both arms were in casts, and his face...The Chief hadn't seen a face so brutally damaged outside of Covenant POW camps. And people tended not to last long in those. The Chief sat down on the only chair.

Yao Miller opened one eye, apparently awoken by the Spartan's entry. His other eye had swollen shut; it was entirely possible that he would never see out of it again. The Chief could tell he recognized him.

John asked a simple question: "Why?"

Miller chuckled, but only for a moment. He quickly grimaced in pain and fell into a coughing fit. He recovered after several seconds. "Why?" he asked, after clearing his throat.

The Master Chief nodded. "Why?" he repeated. No other words needed to be said. Miller knew what he was asking.

"'Why' what?" the kid asked anyway. The Chief suppressed a pang of annoyance. He was about to reiterate when Miller surprised him by continuing to talk. "'Why would I save you buddy?' Oh, don't look so surprised. Everyone knew who she arrived with and who she ran with. Your little circle tends to stick out." The Master Chief frowned. If the average colonist had deduced more than he expected maybe they would have to go underground sooner than he thought. Of course, it would have to wait until Linda's recovery. Miller continued.

"You probably think I'm some kind of barbarian, right?" the former Insurrectionist croaked. "Some kind of murderous savage, out to destroy civilization to bring about total anarchy, right?"

"Something like that," the Master Chief answered.

Miller snorted. "Figures. That's all anyone sees," he said. He paused for a moment. "Let me tell you a story." he said. "The story of my life."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I grew up on an Outer Colony. It's name was New Westport, not that anyone cares.

The Insurrection had been an inter-stellar problem for decades and everyone on New Westport had heard how it was going. The terrorist bombings. The nuclear detonations in civilian population centers. It had begun to slow down with the Covenant's assault, but even invading aliens weren't enough to stop _all_ of the lunatics from fighting. It had been all over the news. We'd just gotten through about 10 years of civil unrest. People were tired of the Insurrection, and they were scared it might come back. My parents were scared, my friends' parents were scared, everyone was scared. I was just 13 at the time, too concerned with getting the latest video game and wondering when my balls were gonna drop to care about politics. But even I could tell how scared everyone was, and that rubbed off on me.

Apparently the UEG was as scared as the rest of us, because they sent a whole lot of UNSC Marines to keep an eye on us. I remember my home town got a whole base's worth stationed within 5 minutes of the place. They set up military checkpoints, started doing background checks, the whole works. Everyone was really happy about it, at first. The marines looked like they could handle any rebel threat. Families would bring coffee and pastries to the soldiers manning the barricades. Officers would give talks at the local schools. Hell, I remember one time I saw a marine, all decked out in armor with his buddy holding his rifle, playing catch with a couple of kids even younger than me. Everyone just wanted to feel safe. And we did.

That didn't last too long, though. The Feds were gettin' real paranoid. The background checks started gettin' more and more 'invasion of privacy' like. The searches, arrests, questionings, all that started gettin' really out of hand. Started gettin' so you couldn't go a day without some Marine gettin' in your face about something you said or did that seemed suspicious. Not to mention the checkpoints. I had to state my name, home, family, and show my ID at least a dozen times a day just to get to and from school. Then we started hearing rumors of people being tortured for information. Some people came back from arrests with weird scars on their bodies that they wouldn't talk about. That really freaked me out.

There was a minority of people who were into that 'Triad' thing. Y'know, that cult that popped up about 50 years ago or something? They were pretty cool. Always goin' on about 'transcendence' and 'freeing your mind' and other crap, but they were decent enough people. Always attended city meetings and gave money to the local charities. I remember this one old lady; always had the best stuff at Halloween. The commander of the UNSC forces must have had a real hard-on for 'em, though, 'cause he started having them harassed almost constantly, way more than the rest of us. Strip searches, mass raids, bastard even herded them into their own isolated ghettos, tellin' them where to live and where they could work. People didn't like that so much.

Then there was Red Thursday. It was a holiday, celebrating the arrival of the first settlers on New Westport. Real national pride stuff, y'know? Well, a lot of people decided it would be a great time for a rights march. Hundreds showed up to march down the main street in town. It would lead us right past the UNSC headquarters; we wanted to send a clear message.

Noone was violent. There were no guns, no molotovs, no bombs. Just a bunch of people protesting unfair treatment. I was there, too, all swept up in the movement. I barely even knew what the goal of the march was, but everyone was there. Everyone was upset. I figured, go with the flow, right?

I remember it so clear...We were just coming up on the UNSC headquarters. I looked up and saw a bunch of armored soldiers on the roof. I found out later they were ODSTs using BR-55 rifles, but all I knew at the time was that a group of about 5 guys in scary gear were on the roof pointing guns at us.

Then they opened fire.

Twenty people were murdered that day. Another thirty were injured. The UNSC didn't even make any arrests. They tried to sweep it all under the rug. Noone forgot, though. Noone on New Westport.

Especially not me.

I was one of the lucky ones. I got away without a scratch on me, minus the scrapes on my hands from when I tripped. I remember staring at them for hours...just looking at my scuffed up, bloody palms. I realized something, then. I could either get killed for nothin', or get killed for fightin' back. I chose the second option.

What, you don't believe me? Don't gimme that look. Go look it up if you don't believe me, if you can find any records of it. 'Glassed planets have bad records,' that's the excuse I hear every time I try to look up what happened back then. Fuckin' coverups...

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, the big decision. It wasn't hard to find an Innie group to sign up with. After the massacre everyone wanted to fight back. I was actually sidelined for months because there were so many adults that wanted to fight.

The adult volunteers stopped coming, eventually. At first I thought they were cowards, abandoning the fight. Now, though...I think they probably had families. Lives to go back to. Spouses and kids they didn't want growing up without 'em. I didn't have those things. I had an uncle who was taking care of me, but at 13 I just didn't get what I was risking. What I was doing.

They say the scariest thing about a terrorist is that you never know when or where he's gonna strike. Well the reason that you never knew where we were gonna strike was because we were too dumb to know where we _should_ strike. Some of the other cells were better at picking targets, but we were mostly dumb, angry kids looking to fight back. I remember gettin' a handgun, sneaking as close to a checkpoint as I could, firing all my bullets at once, then just running away. I got no idea if I ever hit anyone. I know a lot of my buddies did the same and got shot in the back by marines, though.

Eventually, they figured out that I would be really good at making explosives. I'd always done well in chemistry and engineering classes. I'd take commercially available chemicals and some lab gear stolen from school and cook up some home-brewed death. I was so proud of my skills...hah. I was probably the only person there crazy enough to do it.

I was just so damned angry...angry and scared and in too deep to quit. But then, I did. I turned myself in.

What's that? 'Why?' Hah-hah. Well...

For a while everything seemed great. The bombs were going off, Feds were dying, all was right with the world. Then, one day, I messed up. I must have screwed up the chemicals because it went off no more than 30 seconds after I handed it off to the guy who was going to plant it. It must have been too unstable, and the guy shook it or something. All I know is, one second I'm walking away from a job well done, the next I'm lyin' on the ground with my ears bleedin' and ringin' and wonderin' what the hell happened.

Then I looked around me...

Before this...I'd never seen one of my bombs go off up close. I'd never seen any of our attacks up close. I'd read about it on the news, see it on broadcasts, but even when there was live video it all seemed so...distant. Like I wasn't really hurting people so much as images on a screen. Numbers on a page. There's a...separation...in killing from afar. Makes it easier. Like you're not hurting _people,_ you're hurting _enemies_. Then you see it up close...

I remember it even more clearly than Red Thursday. The screams. The crying. I remember people clutching bloody stumps where their limbs used to be. I remember one guy pressing his hand to his belly trying to hold his own guts in. I remember a woman clutching a little kid, bawling her eyes out...I don't know if the kid lived. Everywhere I looked I could see exactly what I had been doing from a groundside seat.

I think I spent an hour throwing up.

After that...I just couldn't do it anymore. I turned myself in. They tried me, convicted me, were probably gonna throw me in prison for life. Then the Covenant showed up. A few days later New Westport was dead, and the UNSC had bigger problems than figuring out where to lock up some traumatized kid terrorist. They let me go, tellin' me they'd be watching. Whatever. I didn't care anymore. About anything. It wasn't until I got to Meridian, until I was surrounded by people screwed over by the UEG or the UNSC, that the anger started cropping up again.

So. You wanted to know why I'd save your buddy, right? Why a guy who's tried to hurt you time and again would bother? Well, maybe I never wanted to kill ya. Maybe I just wanted to teach ya a lesson. Maybe the idea of seeing someone else die because of my old cause made me have a crisis of conscience.

Or maybe it was just instinct. What the hell do I know? I'm just a broken, dumb kid, who's done more bad in his life than good.

So, now you have your answer, for whatever it's worth.

Now leave me the hell alone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_I don't know what to think._

Linda was lying in her bed, listening to the Master Chief and Dr. Halsey talk. Halsey and Linda had been listening in on Miller's story via the Spartan's compad. When Miller had gotten to his stories of UNSC atrocities, however, Halsey immediately grabbed her own compad, set it in her lap, and began typing away as fast as she could with one hand. It turned out she was looking up evidence of Miller's story.

_ONI is good at coverups,_ she had said, _but there are always places to find the truth if you know where to look. I may have...neglected to mention a few to my superiors while I was still working for them,_ she finished with a bitter smile.

It turned out that Miller had been telling the truth. The so-called Red Thursday massacre had been a very real thing. It had happened largely as Miller reported. And it hadn't been unique. Before, during, and after the war the UEG and UNSC had committed numerous atrocities without any semblance of justice meted out. Many of them, Halsey said, were directly sanctioned by ONI.

_The Office of Naval Intelligence is unfamiliar with schools of problem solving that don't involve draconian oppression,_ she had said.

This was too much. The UNSC was supposed to be the protector of humanity! The Navy, Marines, Army, even ONI, were all supposed to work towards the good of the people. Yet, here they were, causing the same kind of horror that any enemy would be proud to inflict. Even on Meridian they could all see the casual neglect and abuse that colonists often suffered. Linda felt lost.

The Master Chief. He would know the answer. He could make anything make sense. He'd been there since the beginning, had saved her on Reach. He could help her see.

The Chief was actually pacing the floor. He almost looked like he was struggling to keep a neutral expression, but that couldn't be. He already knew what to do...

"Chief..." Linda said. Her leader kept pacing, seeming not to hear her. "Chief," she said louder. He still seemed not to hear her. "Blue Lead!" she said as loudly as her injured lungs could take.

"Not now, Blue Two!" he snapped. Linda shrunk back as if struck.

"John!" Dr. Halsey scolded.

The Master Chief looked between the 2 of them, seeming not to focus on either. He seemed to be kilometers away in his own head. He suddenly moved to leave the room.

"I'll be back shortly," he said over his shoulder. He was out the door before Dr. Halsey could grab him.

Linda felt lost. She didn't know what to do, what to think, and now...now she felt like her leader had abandoned her.

_What is going on?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I tried to imply early on that Linda had come to rely on the Master Chief a bit too much for her own psychological stability and I hope I did a good job of paying that off here. Don't worry, she's not going to collapse into a puddle of tears and stereotypical female weakness. I haven't lost sight of her character and the strength she has. However, everyone has their weaknesses. There's no shame in that and if done right it makes a character more sympathetic. Please, let me know how I did.
> 
> Note: I'm not an expert in riots, but I tried to make the defusing of the one we see plausible. The tech that they use is based on real-world riot control technology. Also, the brief commentary on "tear gas" was very real. People underestimate just how devastating it can be. It is, after all, a chemical weapon.
> 
> Note: Miller's backstory is heavily based on (or ripped off of, if I'm being honest) the life story of Shane Paul O'Doherty, a reformed IRA bomber. He co-wrote an article on cracked.com that I found incredibly insightful. I'll include the URL here. I highly recommend you guys read it.
> 
> http://www.cracked.com/personal-experiences-1420-8-terrifying-life-lessons-from-former-terrorist.html.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 12

_Okay, time to make a friend,_ Tanaka thought to herself. She grimaced; this would not be easy. _Well, first time for everything, I suppose._

She walked into the room containing the late Administrator Adomar's secretary. Said secretary looked up from whatever work occupied her these days and smiled politely. The smile was quickly replaced by confusion as she realized that Tanaka was not only alone, but carrying her helmet rather than wearing it. It would be hard to put anyone at ease when they couldn't see your face.

"Hi, there. Just wanted to talk for a minute," Tanaka greeted awkwardly. "Off the record, of course," she lied. She silently cursed Locke for this idea. Secretly pumping people for information while pretending to be reaching out was not what she had signed up for. Still, orders were orders. And it's not like she had to report _everything_ she learned...

Once again to her credit, the secretary took it in stride. "Of course," she replied. "Please, have a seat," she gestured to one of the two chairs in front of her desk.

Tanaka smiled. "Sorry, ma'am, but there's no way one of those things could handle me. This gear weighs a ton," she explained, referring to her MJOLNIR Mark VIII armor. The secretary smiled in response.

Suddenly, Tanaka had an idea. She moved one of the chairs aside and simply sat cross-legged on the floor. Her augmented height meant that her eye level was about where an average person's would be if they were sitting down.

Her host blinked in surprise. "Oh, please, that's not necessary. I really don't mind if you stand."

Tanaka smiled again. "No, no, I insist, Miss..."

"Belmonte. Maria Belmonte," the secretary answered.

"Miss Belmonte. It's really no trouble," Tanaka said. "Why, does it make me look silly?"

Belmonte hesitated. She must have been encouraged by the Spartan's smile, as she grinned herself and nodded, chuckling.

_Success,_ Tanaka thought. "Don't worry about it. If anyone thinks I'm a person to fuck with just because of _this,_ they deserve whatever I do to them."

She had meant it in a joking manner, but Belmonte must not have understood that as her expression froze and all levity in the room evaporated.

_Goddammit,_ the Spartan thought. Maybe joking about brutalizing her comrades after the impression Osiris had made wasn't the best course of action. She would have to be more careful about her casual relationship with violence around these colonists. Maybe she ought to cut back on the cussing, too. She had heard some civvies don't like that...

"Anyway," Tanaka continued, hoping to recover from her mistake, "I just wanted to apologize for the impression we must have made when we got here." Belmonte covered it well, but the Spartan could tell from her body language that she was surprised. Spending most of her time around fellow supersoldiers wearing face-concealing helmets had granted Tanaka a better than average ability to read human posture and body movements. "We may be... a bit forceful," _understatement of the fucking century,_ Tanaka thought, continuing, "but we bear no ill will toward Meridian or its people. We only want to do our job and leave you all in peace."

Secretary Belmonte nodded, saying, "Of course." Her body language, however, radiated skepticism.

Tanaka sighed internally. Making friends was not something they taught in Basic, and she was not naturally good at it. Nor had she trained in any kind of spook school; she had no idea how to manipulate people on a social level. _Not that I would want to,_ she thought, remembering the disdain she had for ONI and everyone who worked there. Sneaky creeps...

The Spartan forced herself to focus on the job at hand. She needed Belmonte to trust her if she was going to get any useful intel out of the woman. More than that, though, Tanaka genuinely did want to make up for Locke's behavior in whatever small way she could. _I suppose I'll have to open up a bit,_ she thought, deeply unhappy about the prospect. She didn't like making herself vulnerable to anyone, least of all some random colonist she barely knew. Still, if that's what she needed to do, that's what she needed to do.

"The last thing we wanted was to touch off riots," she said, allowing a genuine frown to appear on her face. She resisted the urge to slam her helmet over her head to hide it. "Believe me, I saw enough of that shit growing up." Oops. Slipped up on the language.

Fortunately, Belmonte didn't seem to mind Tanaka's profanity. Instead, she frowned in sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that...Say, did you happen to grow up in the Outer Colonies?"

"Accent gave it away, huh?" Tanaka chuckled. Belmonte laughed quietly along with her, blushing a bit in embarrassment, and nodded in confirmation. Tanaka smiled in reassurance. She proceed to tell her new buddy about her childhood. The overcrowding. The suffering refugees. How she had grown up alone, orphaned before she could even really remember. How she couldn't even remember where she was originally from. And, of course, all of the _wonderful_ interactions she had had with the Federal, or should she say _Inner Colony_ , authorities growing up.

"If you don't mind my asking," Belmonte asked hesitantly. Tanaka motioned for her to continue, wanting to assure her that nothing was off limits. Reassured, the secretary continued, "if you're experience with the UEG was so negative growing up, why do you fight for them now?"

"I _don't_ fight for them," Tanaka said resolutely. "I fight for _humanity_. I fight to protect _everyone_ , Inner Colony and Outer Colony alike. I'll be honest with you, when I first joined up the only thing on my mind was putting as many light years between myself and Minab as I could. Over time, though, I started to realize just how many threats there are out there." The Spartan's expression grew deadly serious. "We need a strong, unified military if we're ever gonna be safe. We need to be carrying a big-ass stick if anyone is going to take us seriously as a species in the inter-stellar theater. Of course," she continued, allowing her smile to return, "that don't mean we have to be assholes about it."

They both shared a good chuckle over that before moving on to other topics of conversation. All in all, she thought the meeting went rather well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Why do I get the feeling I'm not welcome?_ Buck thought to himself.

He was entering the 3rd Security Station of the day, looking for any potential leads on Blue Team. The AI on board the frigate in orbit, the UNSC _Emergence from Dusk,_ was currently analyzing the data gathered from Fireteam Osiris' high altitude flybies of the mining sites and glasslands. It would alert them as soon as it found any trace of the rogue Spartan IIs. In the meantime, Spartan Locke had determined that the best way to gather more intel would be to split up and interrogate various sections of Meridian society. Buck had been assigned to the Meridian Security Force.

Buck grimaced again at his superior's decision to divide the team. _Gee Willickers, let's split up, gang!_ he imagined Locke saying. Maybe it was a spook thing, but Buck would have never divided his forces while in uncertain territory back when he commanded his own squad of ODSTs. What if they were ambushed? Locke certainly seemed to be putting all his chips on the idea that Blue Team was hiding in the glasslands somewhere, but wasn't it possible they would sneak back in to tail Osiris?

_Maybe that's the idea. Using us as bait, like. Maybe he even wants to bump a few of us off. Would be the sort of thing I'd expect from a bad ONI Agent,_ he thought. How Veronica even survived in that snake pit he didn't know.

Buck walked up to the Security desk. Neither the Officer behind the desk, nor anyone else in sight, seemed happy to see him. Noone was overt about it, but he would swear he felt the room temperature drop by several degrees upon his entry. He asked to see the Officer in charge of the station and the man behind the desk complied. In a few moments Buck was talking to a 'Sgt. Ajit Singh.' Why a Sgt. was in charge of a precinct instead of a Captain or some other higher rank was odd. Maybe private security groups just did things differently.

"Greetings. How can I help you?" Sgt. Singh asked with obviously forced politeness. Clearly, putting on a facade of respect and ass-kissing was not this man's strong suit. He probably sucked at poker. Buck felt a moment of kinship with the man. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Just here for a little inspection," Buck lied. He suppressed a grimace with great effort. He despised lying, especially to allies. Damn orders. "The UNSC is concerned about this colony's preparedness in the case of enemy attack and would like to evaluate its various departments."

Sgt. Singh's expression darkened even more. Buck realized that he had just become something even worse than an invading military force in the law enforcement officer's eyes: he was Internal Affairs.

"Of course, sir," Singh said respectfully. "I assure you, we are committed and more than prepared for any potential threat, sir. You are, of course, free to inspect any aspect of this station and its attendant Officers, sir."

Buck thought the Sgt. was laying it on a little thick with the 'sir' crap. The Spartan really must have botched his initial impression. "Let's go somewhere we can talk privately," he said. Singh nodded, and the 2 went into his office.

Buck scowled behind his polarized visor at how cramped Sgt. Singh's office was. This was all they gave their Security Force? If Singh was as competent as he'd heard, his respect for the Sgt. would go up a notch from this alone.

"Sorry for the mess," Singh apologized, referring to the disorganized pile of papers and file folders that littered his desk. "If I knew you were coming, I'd have cleaned up a bit."

"Don't worry about it. I know what it's like to work for a living," Buck assured him. Singh paused at that, eying him suspiciously. Buck saw this as an opportunity and decided to press forward immediately.

Buck depolarized his faceplate. Normally he kept it so that it was only transparent from his perspective; to everyone else, his visor as a uniform slate gray. It was a habit he had picked up while an ODST. It helped enhance the mystique of an elite soldier, which made people more ready to do what he told them to. In the field, you rarely had time to convince people that you knew what the hell you were talking about. Even though lower ranking soldiers were obligated to follow his orders, the stress of combat enhanced any hesitance to life threatening levels. Keeping the visor polarized was a habit that many Spartans also employed, including, obviously, Buck himself. However, it was a liability here. Sgt. Singh needed to trust, or at least not actively distrust, Buck if he was to get any work done here. Thus, giving the Sgt. an expressive human face to talk to rather than an opaque visor would be a mission asset. Buck mentally chewed himself out for considering a conversation with an ally a 'mission'. Maybe Locke was rubbing off on him...

"I'm gonna be honest here with you, Sgt. I really don't want to be here," Buck said in as honest a tone of voice he could manage. He looked Singh in the eye, trying to communicate the genuine nature of the statement. Buck really did mean that. "From everything I've seen and heard, especially about how you guys handled the riots yesterday, there's no point to me being here. But," he sighed, "orders are orders. Just help me get enough to satisfy my superiors and we can call it a day, alright?"

Sgt. Singh seemed to consider him for a moment. Apparently deciding to take Buck at his word, he nodded, saying, "Alright. Here're all of the incident reports from the last month. Also, here's the equipment lists and maintenance logs. Should be enough to satisfy, I think," he said, handing Buck a compad. The personnel files were noticeably absent. Buck decided he didn't care; they could get those remotely, anyway. He thanked him, and began skimming the files. There was no reason to go over all of them with a fine tooth comb. He was just looking for missing supplies or suspicious characters. Besides, he just flat didn't have time for that if he was going to get to the other Security stations by the days end.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take a copy of these files. Exam them in 'greater detail'" Buck said, rolling his eyes, "That okay with you?"

Singh grinned slightly and nodded his consent. Buck glanced over the equipment list again and his gaze became riveted on one particular item. He looked to the Sgt. "Is this some kind of joke?" he asked, showing Singh the item in question.

The Sgt. chuckled. "Come with me," he said, leading Buck out of his office. They walked out of his office and the Security station, Singh grabbing a clean surgical mask before leaving the hermetically sealed building. Apparently even the residents thought this place smelled like ass.

They walked around the corner and came to the station's vehicle depot. It was a small, enclosed garage, barely big enough to fit the 10 or so vehicles that the Officers used for daily operations. Towards the back, however, there was what was clearly a large door separating another area from the main garage. Singh walked up to a number pad built into the wall next to the door and input a 10 digit code. The door rolled up into the ceiling, and Buck saw just about the last thing he ever would have expected to find in a run down, under-equipped backwater like Meridian: A Scorpion M808B Main Battle Tank.

"What...in the hell...?" Buck asked. The Scorpion appeared to be in perfect working order. The main armament, an M512 Smooth Bore High Velocity Cannon, was rated to fire 90mm tungsten shells and was attached to a 360° swivel mount behind the enclosed, single-person cockpit. The shells would be auto-loaded into the cannon by mechanisms hidden within the mount's rear, eliminating the need for additional crew members. An M247T Medium Machine Gun was attached to the mount below the cannon and could be controlled manually by the single pilot or by an auto-targeting program pre-installed onto the tank's on-board computer systems. The single pilot would control it all through a combination of manual controls and an interface with the neural implant installed in the backs of the heads of all UNSC personnel. The M808B was completely covered in Ceramic-Titanium armor plates capable of shrugging off a plasma mortar from a Covenant Wraith Tank. The entire thing rested upon 4 independently maneuverable treads, offering maximum traction over uneven or unsteady terrain. It was the pinnacle of UNSC armored land attack vehicles and had served proudly and effectively during the Human-Covenant War. It was also _way_ outside the budget of a security station on a backwater planet that had no possible need for a 10.2m long, 7.8m wide, 66 metric ton death machine.

"No offense, Sgt., but could you explain to me why—no, _how—_ the flyin' fuck a Meridian Security Station got it's hands on God's gift to infantry?" Buck asked Singh, utterly baffled by what he had discovered.

The Sgt. chuckled. "No offense taken, Spartan. As for how, well, mostly it boils down to corporate idiocy," he explained, sighing in wearied exasperation. "We struggle to get everything out here, from food to medicine, but every once in a while Company Headquarters decides to drop a big, expensive pile of military hardware on us. I guess some people there are scared of some kind of alien attack and want to feel like they're protecting their investment." Singh's face took on a scowl. "Might not be so bad if they were consistent about it, but it only seems to happen every so often and in completely illogical ways. I guess every now and then something happens that spooks them and they throw some money at an arms company or something to make the fear go away. Combine that with all of the government subsidies for arms manufacturing following the War and, well...we get a goddamn tank."

"...no shit..." Buck said in wonder. He guessed it made sense, from a corporate dumbass perspective. Still, as idiotic as it was, it was nice to see one of the Scorpions again. These beauties had saved his ass, and the asses of countless other marines, from more Covenant assaults than he could count. The only unpleasant thing about it was the piss-ugly red and blue paint scheme. That and the 'Liang-Dortmund Company' name and logo where the UNSC and Marine Corps emblem should have been.

"Yeah. You believe we don't even have anyone qualified to run this thing?" Singh continued. "I'm the only one in the station who even has the neural implant you need just to _start_ this behemoth, and my time in the Army didn't give me any expertise in driving tanks! Honestly, I'm kinda hoping you can take this off my hands for me, seein' as how it's just taking up space."

Buck chuckled in sympathy. "I'll see what I can do. We didn't plan on picking up any supplies here, but you can never have enough tanks, if ya ask me." Buck sighed. "Seems like no matter where you work, the brass has its head too far up its own ass to know where stick its gear."

"Yeah?" the Sgt. asked in mild surprise. "I always figured you Federal types always had your stuff together."

Buck burst into laughter so hard he almost doubled over. "Are you kiddin' me?" he asked, once he'd caught his breath. "Command screwed up near _constantly_ when I was a marine. Things got a little better when I joined the ODSTs, and even better when I became a Spartan, but screwups happened all the time. I remember one time my ODST squad got assigned one of those new 'Spartan Laser' cannons. It was a man portable directed energy weapon, about the size and weight of a Jackhammer missile launcher. It was capable of killing near-any Covenant vehicle in one shot. Sweet gun—but none of us knew how to use it! We hadn't been trained for it. And the thing didn't even come with an instruction manual! I had to pester the quartermaster for days to get one." Buck shook his head. "Still, once we worked out how to use it, the Laser was one of the best things to ever happen to us. We were spec ops, so we didn't take part in many conventional battles, but when we did it really saved our asses."

Buck thought back to the fighting that had taken place on Earth in the final days of the Human-Covenant War. Of the seemingly-countless Wraiths and Banshee gunships that the Covenant had thrown at the dwindling human resistance. Of the fighting retreats and desperate last stands. The bright red flash of a Spartan Laser firing was one of the most beautiful damn things in the galaxy, if you asked him.

The Spartan IV shook his head. "Well, I guess I better get going," he said. Suddenly, he remembered something. "Oh, yeah, we were also told that there might be some fugitives hangin' out on Meridian," he said. "It's a long shot, but have you seen a group of five people recently come to this planet? They'd be hard to miss. 4 of them are huge, tall bastards; 2 men and 2 women. Could probably break a man in two if they wanted. Number 5 was an elderly woman, academic type, bit of an ego about her. Seen any new arrivals like that in the last couple months or so?"

Sgt. Singh's face turned to stone. "No," he said, "afraid I haven't...These folks dangerous?"

_Whoa. Alarms going off here,_ Buck thought.

"Potentially. If you get in their way," he answered truthfully. He doubted Blue Team would kill a civilian for being a threat, but they could still do a lot of damage if they needed to. "You're sure you haven't seen anything?" he asked insistently.

"Completely sure," Singh answered. "I'll be sure to let you know if I do, though."

Buck nodded, deciding that this was as much as he would get out of this particular interaction. He'd have to inform Locke about this the next chance he got.

Of course, if this seemingly-innocent Officer managed to alert any Spartan IIs in the meantime, well...he couldn't be held responsible for that, now could he?

Buck grinned, nodded at the good Sgt., and left the garage.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_I don't know whether to be charmed or terrified,_ Spartan Vale thought to herself.

She was currently outdoors, in a dead end, surrounded by small figures wearing gas masks. In any other context, it would be the setting of a bad horror movie. On Meridian, it simply meant Vale had caught the attention of Meridian's small population of children while on her way back from questioning the 'Prospector' barracks designated 'Icarus Flats'.

Normally, Vale liked kids. They were always so inquisitive, so eager to learn about anything that caught their fancy. Here, though, the gas masks they all had to wear while outdoors were really putting her off.

"Children!" Vale heard a middle-aged woman call. "Leave the soldier alone!" The woman ran up to the group, shooing the errant youngsters away. "I'm terribly sorry, Ma'am. We were just crossing the street to enter the gymnasium when the children spotted you. They meant no disrespect," she said deferentially. A bit _too_ deferentially, in Vale's opinion. She got the impression that the woman was afraid of her. That would not do.

"That's quite alright, ma'am," Vale assured her, depolarizing her faceplate. Unlike Locke's helmet, her visor covered the entirety of her face. That way, if the camera systems ever malfunctioned, she would still be able to see unimpeded. Why Osiris Lead had covered all but the area around his eyes with opaque armor was beyond her. "What's your name, if I may ask?" Vale asked in as friendly a tone as possible.

The woman was clearly taken aback. "...Miss Hayashi," she replied hesitantly. "I teach at PS 03. These children are my responsibility."

"Is she a Spartan?" one of the children, a girl, asked. Vale guessed she was about 6 years old given her size and voice.

The woman responded quickly and, in Vale's opinion, rather harshly. "Aiko! I told you to go with the other children!"

"But none of them went inside either!" the child, Aiko, whined. Hayashi looked up to see that, indeed, none of them had.

"Really, it's quite alright, ma'am," Vale said. "In fact, I'd be happy to answer any questions these young ones have if it's acceptable to you." This prompted a cheer from the eavesdropping children.

Ms. Hayashi looked torn between her distrust of the UNSC soldier and her desire not to be torn apart by a bunch of deprived children. Eventually, the teacher relented and allowed her charges to gather round the Spartan. Vale sat on the ground cross-legged in order to be on a more even level with them. The children followed suit, apparently used to this kind of teaching style. Vale still towered over them; she guessed that their ages ranged from about 4 to 7 years old.

"To answer your question—Aiko, was it?" Vale got a nod in response from the suddenly wide-eyed girl. Vale smiled at her. "Yes, I am indeed a Spartan." This prompted an explosion of questions from the children, forcing Vale to insist on everyone quieting down, which took about half a minute. "Now now," Vale said, "I can only answer you one at a time. Raise your hands and I will answer as best I can." Naturally, all of the children raised their hands. She picked one at random.

"Did you fight in the War? Against the aliens?" one of them, a boy judging by the voice, asked.

"Yes, I did," Vale answered. "Although I was just a marine, then. I didn't become a Spartan until about a year ago." _That_ had been an experience. Being put under and waking up to find a radically different, superhuman body in place of the one she had been accustomed to had been shocking, to say the least. She supposed she should be glad that the bleeding in the eyes had stopped popping up within a couple of weeks, considering the horror stories about people whose bodies unexpectedly rejected the treatment.

She picked another child.

"Do you know the Master Chief?" this one, apparently a girl, asked. All of the other children reacted to this, clamoring for an answer. Vale felt suddenly awkward. She was glad none of them knew the reason she and the rest of Fireteam Osiris were really here. They may not mean Blue Team any harm, but it was still extremely awkward to be hunting humanity's greatest heroes.

"Not personally, no," she said. "There are a lot of Spartans now, much more than there were during the Human-Covenant War." The children seemed stunned by this, most of them excited at the prospect of there being more 'real-life superheroes' out there. She left out the part about how the new Spartans were of the Series IV augmentations, which produced inferior results than the older but more dangerous Series II which had produced the Master Chief.

Vale called another child, again at random.

This one, a boy, seemed more awkward than the others had. His question was asked in a tentative, almost fearful tone, a far cry from the adoration and hero worship that the others had. "My pa says that soldiers mostly don't fight aliens. That they mostly hurt people who don't like the Oo-ee-gee." Many of the other gas masked heads turned sharply to the boy. One of those next to him shoved him.

"Hey! None of that!" Vale chastised them. The children stilled immediately. "There's no call for violence here." She looked to the boy who asked the question. "Your father was probably thinking of the Insurrection. They were people who didn't like rules and the way things are supposed to go, so they tried to fight leaders of humanity for control. They were very bad people, and they hurt a lot of boys and girls just like you. But-" she made sure to emphasize, "we don't hurt good people. The Insurrection is gone now, and I'm sure none of you would be bad enough to be one of them, right?" she asked. The children all shook their heads violently in answer. A few of them had to readjust their gas masks. Vale wondered how uncomfortable those must be before continuing to answer questions.

The boy who had asked the question about the Insurrection didn't seem entirely convinced, if his body language was anything to go by. Vale supposed that was inevitable. The boy's father sounded like the kind of man who had no lost love for the UEG or UNSC, and probably filled his child's head with all sorts of anti-government rhetoric.

Not that Vale was blind to the plight of the Outer Colonists. While Vale had grown up an Inner Colonist, she had always been more knowledgeable than most for one important reason: her father was a diplomat. He was one of the all too few individuals who would often be called away to mediate disputes in the Outer Colonies in order to diffuse tensions without violence.

Her mother had been killed in a Covenant attack when she was an infant and her father, not wanting his only child to grow up completely without him, would often take her on trips with him. On those trips Vale had made a habit of sneaking out of the UEG compounds where her family stayed and making friends with anyone she could meet outside. She smiled as she remembered the exasperated security guards who could never understand how she managed to keep slipping away. Not that said trips were without cost. Her smile faded into a grimace as she remembered the fights she had gotten into; more frequently than she would ever admit, her life had been on the line in those combats. She never told anyone about her frequent brushes with death. They were never enough to deter her, anyway.

Her father had, naturally, been furious at her escapades. However, Vale could tell that he was always secretly proud of the way she would befriend the Outer Colonists and learn about their lives. They would often have long discussions about what she had learned. She knew from a very young age that the Outer Colonists were frequently treated as second class citizens. Unfavorable trade agreements with the Inner Colonies, restrictive regulations regarding planetary development, exploitation by Inner Colony corporations that left entire worlds impoverished...no, Vale was not blind.

That was one of the reasons she had committed herself to learning as much as she could about human society from a young age. She believed that ignorance was the greatest enemy of humankind. When she began to understand the significance of humanity's first contact with aliens, beyond the struggle to survive, she had begun devouring any scrap of information she could find about them. Humanity needed peace with other sapient species. If it could pull that off, surely peace within itself would be a trivial challenge in comparison.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," a familiar voice asked from behind her. Locke.

Vale had been careful to hide her growing suspicion that ONI, the organization that had produced her current commanding officer, was a purveyor of ignorance. That it intentionally restricted the information that Inner Colonists received about the state of affairs in the Outer Colonies, downplaying any injustices in order to prevent popular outrage that could remove ONI from power. They were probably just conspiracy theories, anyway. Sure there were coverups, but ONI couldn't be _that_ corrupt, could it?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Hope Vale hasn't told them anything they don't need to know,_ Locke thought.

What was Vale doing, anyway? He had assigned her to interrogate the Prospectors, not entertain children. Now he finds her leading story time with a bunch of first graders?

Said children all looked up in awe before jumping to their feet and rushing to him. He had to fight his combat instincts as he was rapidly surrounded. Kids had no sense of boundaries...

"Are you a Spartan too?"

"Why's your armor so different?"

"What's that symbol on your chest?"

"Can you lift a car with your bare hands?"

"How many aliens have you fought?"

"Have you ever flown a starfighter?"

The deluge of questions continued. Locke had no idea what to do. If he didn't know better, he would swear he could see Spartan Vale holding in laughter. He scowled behind his polarized faceplate. If he were an immature man, he would be a bit pissed off about that.

Thankfully, Vale swooped in and bailed him out. She drew their attention back to her, continuing story time with some rather embellished stories of fighting the Covenant.

Now that Locke had a moment to think, and some room to breathe, he reconsidered punishing Vale for wasting time. He had realized that his behavior upon arrival had done more harm than good. Perhaps Vale, and maybe the other members of Fireteam Osiris, could help mend the fences a bit.

Not that any of the violence was his fault. If the colonists of Meridian wanted to act like out of control children, that was their responsibility. He just wasn't used to having to deal with them like this. He supposed he'd have to rely on his subordinates to help make up for his deficiencies in babysitting skills.

Locke looked down to see a girl at his feet. She looked up at him. Locke could see through her gas mask that her eyes were wide. Was she afraid?

He decided that he didn't want her to be afraid of him.

It was a bizarre thought for an ONI agent, he reflected, but it would be nice if, just once, he could have a civilian not piss their pants upon seeing him. He lowered himself to one knee so he could be closer to eye level with the kid.

"Hi..." he said awkwardly. He was unsure how to go about this. He decided to keep it simple. "My name's Locke. What's your name?"

"...Aiko..." she replied.

"Aiko. That's a pretty name," Locke said. He noticed that she was carrying some kind of action figure in her hand. "Is that a Spartan?" he asked, making an educated guess. Aiko nodded wordlessly. "Can I see him?" She nodded again, handing him the figure.

The thing was obviously a cheap knockoff. The plastic was low quality. The joints had clearly broken off and been glued back together, making them immobile. The paint was faded. Even the design was crap; it barely looked like MJOLNIR armor at all. Locke seriously wondered if whatever hack company made this thing just repainted some generic 'soldier' figure it had sold previously. If it weren't for the numbers '117' painted on the chest piece, marking the figure as representing the Master Chief, he would have suspected the girl was just pretending it was a Spartan figure. Maybe he could get this kid something better. He doubted the _Infinity_ kept action figures in stock, but maybe he could have something shipped to her after he left...

"It's the Master Chief," Aiko said.

Locke nodded. "I see that," he said in a positive tone of voice. "You like the Master Chief?"

Aiko nodded again. "He's my hero."

Locke smiled. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asked in a slight whisper. Aiko's eyes widened and, again, she nodded. Locke wondered if she always communicated this way. He smiled again, belatedly realizing that she couldn't see him doing so.

"He's my hero, too," Locke confessed.

Then, Aiko asked him a question he had not been prepared for: "Do you know him?"

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Locke was caught up in a memory.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The marine dropped his rifle and fell to the floor. At first Locke thought he might be injured, but then he noticed the man roll into a fetal position and begin crying. Oh. He was just scared.

Luckily, the aliens had backed off just before the man fell down. Otherwise that might have been really bad. Locke scowled at the man through his own tears. Wasn't he supposed to be protecting them? Sure, he was crying too, but he was only 6! The marine was an adult!

The Sgt. in charge didn't even bother dragging his helpless soldier to his feet. Locke could tell that the officer was barely keeping _himself_ upright. His eyes looked...almost empty. He'd probably been fighting the whole day. And losing. Things really didn't look good...

Locke and the rest of the colonists were relying on the marines. They needed to hold the aliens off until the transport ship was ready to carry them all to someplace safe. It was the only way to escape Jericho VII before the aliens destroyed it. Locke shuddered as he remembered the desperate run to the starport from his family's apartment. He fought off tears and tried not to think about how he was the only one of his family that hadn't been...killed...by the...

Locke shook his head. He would not think about that. He would NOT! He needed to stay strong. But things seemed so hopeless...

"Incoming!" one of the marines on the barricades shouted.

Locke rushed forward, looking through one of the gaps in the improvised barriers in front of the entrance to the small backup starport. All of the adults were too busy either getting ready to fight or crying on the ground to pull him back. Locke probably would have curled up himself if what he saw didn't make him freeze in fear.

There was some kind of...tank approaching. But it didn't look like any tank Locke had ever seen. It was a dark blue rather than the green or gray that normal tanks were painted. It had no treads. Instead it hovered over the ground, seemingly on a cloud of bluish light. The tank was round, curvy, with some kind of flower-looking thing where its cannon should be. Suddenly, a bright ball of blue light erupted from the flower and arced through the air. It hit a car that had broken down in the road; it had been too big and heavy to move. The ball of light made a bright flash when it hit. After the flash faded, the car was completely gone. There was a shallow crater of red-hot pavement where it used to be. Locke gulped.

In front of the tank were aliens...a lot of aliens. In front were the short ones. They waddled forward in a way that would be funny if they weren't firing green balls of light at the marines. A bunch of them were shot by the marines and fell over, but the other aliens didn't seem to care. They just moved around them and kept coming. One of the green balls hit a marine in the face. He fell off the barricade and landed next to Locke. The ball had...melted...his...

Locke looked back through the crack at the aliens. Behind the short ones were the really, really tall ones. There were only a few of them, but they were a lot scarier than the little guys. They were covered in armor. Every once in a while the marines would manage to shoot one, but instead of falling over like the little guys, some weird, gold-colored shell would appear and take the hit for them. Locke could swear the big aliens were laughing as they fired back, their balls of bluish light forcing the marines to hide behind the barricade. The aliens kept moving closer.

Locke knew that he was about to die.

Then, what looked like a small, gray baseball fell in the middle of the little aliens and exploded.

Half of them were blown to pieces.

The other aliens turned to Locke's right, firing like crazy at an enemy he couldn't see. Suddenly, the shell of one of the big aliens appeared...and immediately broke. The alien's head exploded. The rest of the big aliens were quickly killed in the same manner. Once they were all dead, the little aliens started running around in a panic. Some even tried to run away. Whatever unseen force had come to the colonists' rescue didn't let them. All of the aliens were dead before Locke even realized what was going on.

The tank turned in place really quick. Locke saw that it was pointing it's flower-gun at...

Whoa.

That guy was huge. Locke could tell it was human. Two arms, two legs, stands upright, legs only had one knee each...

But noone was that big. Not to mention the weird, green armor that covered him head to toe. Was this the guy who had just killed all of the aliens?

The tank fired.

Locke's heart jumped into his throat. The armored guy would get melted by that thing for sure!

Then the armored guy moved faster than Locke had ever seen anyone move. He dashed from cover to cover, dodging the machine gun-like bursts of light that came from just below the tank's big gun. The big gun fired again and again, but the armored guy was just too fast. He ran right up to the tank, dodging the machine gun thing, and jumped on top of it!

He ran up the front of the tank, grabbed the main gun, and swung around to grab onto the thing's rear. The tank started spinning really quick, trying to shake him off. Locke saw him holding on with one hand, using the other to pry open some kind of armor plate or panel. Then, he took another gray baseball—a grenade!—and shoved it into the opening he had made. The armored guy jumped off and sprinted away from the tank. Locke could barely follow him he moved so fast...But he wasn't using cover anymore. The tank would blast him for sure!

The tank exploded in a giant cloud of blue-white fire.

The ground shook. The brightness of the flash blinded Locke. The noise of the explosion made his ears hurt.

Then, there was total silence. Locke blinked the spots from his eyes. He looked back out. The tank was a broken, burning wreck.

Then, he saw the armored guy. The soldier. Their savior. He was okay!

Suddenly, a marine shouted out. But it wasn't out of fear. It was a cheer. A roar of joy and triumph. The rest of the marines joined in, giving their voices to the victory cry. Even Locke started shouting along with them.

The armored soldier made his way to the barricades. Locke wasn't sure how he was going to get through, since there wasn't a door, but he just jumped clean over it! He rolled when he landed, getting up and immediately talking to the Sgt. Whoa. The barricade had to be at least 3 meters high.

The armored guy talked to the Sgt. for only a minute before leaving. The only thing Locke caught was the guy's rank: 'Master Chief'.

Locke was way to nervous to try to talk to him, no matter how much he wanted to. The Sgt. said that the Master Chief was 'classified', whatever that meant, but that he would draw the aliens away from them so they would have time to get away.

Everyone started smiling when they heard that. The marines started getting back into position with a lot more energy than they had just before. Even the ones that had fallen down crying got back up and took their places on the wall.

The aliens attacked a couple more times, but the marines were able to beat them. Some of the colonists even grabbed some guns and joined them on the wall.

They might just make it. Escaping the aliens wasn't hopeless anymore. They could get away. They could survive.

After all, they had a superhero looking out for them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Spartan Locke shook himself. That was weird. He hadn't thought about that day in years...

He looked down, noticing that the little girl was still waiting for an answer.

"No, I'm afraid I don't know the Master Chief," he said, to the girl's obvious disappointment. "But I did meet him once," he added.

The girl perked up at this. "W-what was he like?" she asked eagerly.

Locke chuckled. "He was everything you would expect him to be."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that night, Locke reflected on the Master Chief. On the hero.

The Master Chief would have been able to do a much better job than Locke had managed to do in his shoes. If he had arrived on Meridian, the colonists wouldn't have put up so much of a fight. No, they would have flocked to him. The Chief could have united the entire colony behind him in minutes. Together they could have conquered any threat. Locke had seen it happen firsthand.

This was the problem with being an ONI Agent. Locke just wasn't hero material. He was, really, a blunt instrument. A tool to accomplish violent objectives when more subtle machinations were impossible or just unavailable. He was not a hero. Even the regular Spartan IVs paled in comparison to the Master Chief and the rest of Blue Team.

Locke resolved to commit even more of himself to accomplishing his mission. Humanity needed its heroes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: And another piece of the puzzle that is Spartan/Agent Jameson Locke falls into place. If you think this contradicts my previous characterization of him—first of all, thank you. It gives me all kinds of feels to know I successfully created a character that people can recognize—don't worry, I've had a plan for him from the beginning. All of this will be made clear.
> 
> Note: The 'blunt instrument' line was taken from Ian Fleming's James Bond novels. I haven't read any of them myself, but my understanding of them is that the Bond character is far darker and much more morally gray than the suave man's man that Sean Connery gave us. I still enjoy Connery's Bond, don't get me wrong, but that's not what I'm going for here.
> 
> Note: I know you're probably eager to see what's going on with Blue Team after last chapter's revelations. Believe me, I'm eager to write it. I've been waiting so long to put this part of my plans into print. However, I felt that I needed to put a breather chapter in right here. There's going to be a lot of strong emotions and character growth just ahead and I don't want to overwhelm the reader. Pacing is important, after all. Thoughts?
> 
> Note: So, another brief action scene. I've looked up some articles online about how to write good action scenes and I tried to apply them here. How'd I do?
> 
> Note: Last but not least, I come to a subject that simply had not occurred to me before: A cover image for this story. At the beginning I honestly wasn't sure if I would get enough attention to warrant figuring out how to get a cover image to put in the little thumbnail thing next to the story name/description. Now, however, it's really starting to stick out to me that I have a generic blank profile image next to my biggest story. Problem is, I can't draw for crap and I have no idea how to go about getting an image. I would appreciate any advice or help you guys could give me regarding this.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

The Master Chief stared at his helmet.

 

He was in warehouse 3A-42D. He had infiltrated the facility, easily disabling what few security measures were there, and had opened the crate that had been biometrically locked to him. Inside were his weapons...and his armor.

 

It was not the armor he had worn for the majority of his career. That had been the comparatively primitive MJOLNIR Mark IV and was now probably in a museum somewhere. However, it was easy enough to see his current Mark VII helmet as an extension of his original armor. His Spartan armor.

 

This helmet was, to most of humanity, the Master Chief's face. He had never made any public appearances with the armor off, or even with the visor depolarized. Being faceless enhanced the mystique, or so ONI Section II had said.

 

ONI...

 

How many missions of his had that shadowy organization provided intelligence for? How many enemies did he dispatch at their behest? The Chief had always assumed that any targets he was assigned were legitimate, credible threats to humanity. The dossiers he was given painted clear pictures of rebel threats. But what if...

 

What if some were like Miller's people?

 

What if the Master Chief, and the rest of the Spartans, had unknowingly committed atrocities in the name of the Office of Naval Intelligence? Had they assassinated innocent people? Had they suppressed non-violent dissent? How much of what he knew about his career had been carefully filtered to provide him with only what the spymasters at ONI wanted him to know? How much of what he had done was known even to the supposed leaders of the UNSC and UEG? Dr. Halsey herself had said that Lord Hood was routinely kept out of the loop. What if...

 

What if the government itself was corrupt?

 

It was that last part that scared John the most. He knew that his ultimate purpose was to be the protector of humanity, but he was just a soldier. He was the boots on the ground. He relied upon those in Command, and the political leadership that commanded them, to tell him where to fight. To tell him _who_ to fight. With what he had just learned, the Master Chief was beginning to suspect that he had given his loyalty unwisely.

 

The Chief looked at his helmet again.

 

This was the face of humanity's greatest hero. This was the face that had stopped the Covenant from wiping out the human race.

 

At least that victory was legitimate. The Covenant had been a very real threat, intent on the complete extermination of the human species. They had come within a hair's breadth of accomplishing that horrible goal. If not for the Master Chief and the rest of the Spartans, there would no longer be a human race to serve. The Human-Covenant War had been forced upon them, and the Spartans had needed to fight it.

 

But now the War was over.

 

There were still threats, certainly, but there would always be threats. If human history had demonstrated anything, it was that there would never truly be an end to war. There would always be a need for soldiers, and for heroes. If he ignored the horrors of which he had learned simply because humanity was in danger, then said horrors would never be addressed. Justice would never be given. And many more people would suffer as Miller had. As Meridian had.

 

Besides, whatever parties or systems that were responsible for this status quo were his enemies. They could be nothing else. And any soldier knows that the most lethal thing you can do in regard to an enemy is turn your back on him.

 

Doing so had nearly cost his mother her life.

 

John-117 looked at his helmet.

 

So. Something needed to be done. But what? What could a supersoldier do to change the world?

 

He certainly wasn't about to lead an armed revolution. He had seen where such a course could lead in the Insurrection. And who would he put in charge? He had no capabilities to govern, nor did he have the political genius to know how to set up a new order that would be superior to the current one.

 

He could bring this data to the attention of Lord Hood. The Fleet Admiral had always proven to be an honorable and noble individual. The Chief doubted that Hood had approved of any of this sort of behavior. Yet, they had happened during his watch. He had somehow missed them. If this were brought to his attention, would Lord Hood even be able to do anything about it? He did not hold absolute power.

 

What, then? Where could he go? What organization could he serve? What objective could he pursue?

 

Who should he take orders from?

 

John looked at his helmet.

 

He decided to start from the beginning.

 

What was his purpose?

 

To be a protector of humanity. To serve as the sword and shield of the human race against all forces who would see it harmed, be they foreign or domestic.

 

How could he accomplish his purpose?

 

He would be a soldier. A fighter on the front-line of any military conflict that threatened human lives. His greatest skills were in martial combat—in fighting.

 

How will he know who and where to fight?

 

At this John faltered. He needed direction. He couldn't just fight on his own initiative. He didn't have the resources or the kind of enlightened mind one would need to determine where a soldier should ply his trade; to know what cause he should support.

 

Enlightened mind...

 

Of course! Dr. Halsey!

 

His mother had always been the smartest, wisest person he had ever known. It was she who had founded the Spartan II program, who had given him his purpose. It was she who had brought these horrors to his attention. She would know what to do. She would know who to fight. He could take orders from  _her_ .

 

The Master Chief settled down, feeling the storm within his soul calm. The future was still uncertain. There would be much to do, and many impossible battles to face. But at least now he had a guiding light...

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Linda had spent 24 hours lying in bed, being useless.

 

She could theoretically still do some work. She was lucid and considerably more energetic than when she had first woken up. The painkillers had been downgraded to the point where she wouldn't be disoriented. She couldn't get out of bed, but she had her compad with her, loaded with files taken from the Administrative Building's inner servers. There were things she could do.

 

If she could focus. Which she couldn't.

 

Linda felt lost. She was unsure what to think, and therefore unsure what to do. It felt like her whole world had been turned on its head and she had no idea how to right it. It was like trying to find the way out of the maze after being spun around a bunch of times. Linda was unsure where that analogy came from...maybe something from her childhood?

 

Stupid memories. Useless.

 

She felt _useless_!

 

She needed to be able to do something, even if it was only to think about what she had already learned and plan her next move. If she wasn't moving forward, she was moving back, and Linda had no intention of losing ground. Not here.

 

Yet, for 24 hours, she had failed to accomplish anything.

 

Linda wanted to be alone. If she could be alone, maybe she could confront whatever was keeping her off balance.

 

Unfortunately, her new 'friend' was intent on comforting her.

 

“You're sure I can't get you something to eat?” Michelle Cortez asked. “All of the food's terrible on this planet, but the bars' food is at least _less_ terrible than the hospital food.”

 

Linda smiled at her. It felt like a herculean effort in her current state.

 

“No, thank you,” she replied, hoping she was successful in keeping her growing frustration out of her voice. She would normally have come up with some type of lie to get Cortez to leave, but recent events had made her cold to the idea. _I think I've had enough lies for today,_ she reflected.

 

Linda appreciated the sentiment behind Cortez's visit. Really, she did. Offering her comfort to the woman who had been injured in her defense was an honorable, charitable thing to do. Linda just needed to be alone for a while. To process what had happened. She had already convinced her family to leave her for a bit, and then Cortez had come in to visit.

 

“Hope I'm not interrupting anything,” yet another voice called from the open door. Linda looked over, still not able to get out of bed. She saw Evelyn Collins standing in the doorway to her room. Not wanting to spoil any positive relationships, Linda motioned that the prospector could enter. “Just thought I'd stop in and say hi to one of Rogers' buddies,” she continued. “I know how tight y'all are.”

 

“Thank you. The thought is appreciated,” Linda said. She was shocked to find that she genuinely _was_ glad for the woman's consideration. Maybe she was more off balance than she thought...

 

Collins looked at Cortez, saying, “Hi, there. Don't believe we've met. Name's Evelyn Collins.” The pair shook hands.

 

“Michelle Cortez,” the other answered. “Collins...Collins...” Cortez said thoughtfully to herself, as if trying to remember something. “You're the leader of the prospectors, right?”

 

Collins seemed surprised. “Yeah. I mean, it's not official, but I'm the one everyone goes cryin' to when there's trouble, so I guess I am. Truth be told, I'm kinda surprised anyone from administration,” she said, gesturing to Cortez's office attire, “knows about little old me.”

 

Cortez smiled. “I've made it a point to know as much about Meridian as possible. That includes knowing about all of the people who make this place run. This is my home now, and I intend to help take care of it,” she said seriously.

 

Evelyn Collins blinked. “Your home, huh?” she asked. “Kinda surprised anyone would want a ruined place like this for their own. I was born here, and even I find it tough at times.”

 

“I don't look at it that way,” Cortez said resolutely. “I look out the window and I don't see the ruins of an old world. I see the foundation of a new one. I won't forget about old Meridian, about what was lost here,” she assured Collins, “but I focus on the future. On the hope for tomorrow.”

 

Collins stared at her. She seemed to be thinking about what had just been said. Slowly, a smile spread across her face. “Nice speech. You thinkin' about runnin' for office?” she asked in a joking manner. There was no bite to her words. Linda could tell that Collins liked Cortez. Liked her mindset.

 

Linda couldn't take this anymore. Couldn't take the distractions. She was glad these 2 were happy, really she was, but right now she needed to be _alone_. She decided to just be honest about it.

 

“I'm glad to see both of you,” she said, drawing the pair's attention, “but right now I think I'd like to be alone. It's been a hell of a few days,” she said, managing a wry smile.

 

Both of the other women nodded in understanding. They wished her well and made their way out of Linda's hospital room. Alone at last. _Maybe I should have just said that to begin with,_ she reflected.

 

Alone at last. Alone. Linda had rarely ever felt so alone. She had gone lone wolf for days on end during the War and she hardly ever felt as alone as she did now. The Master Chief had...he had...

 

Linda forced herself to confront what she was thinking.

 

The Master Chief had...failed her. She had needed him, and he had fled the room. How could he do that to her?

 

The Spartan II forced herself to control her own emotions. She would look at this logically, she would analyze it, and she would adapt to whatever she discovered. She had survived the Human-Covenant War. She could survive whatever this was.

 

So. The Chief had failed. Why?

 

He had been confronted with a hard truth: the people he worked for were corrupt. The Master Chief, and the rest of the Spartans, were currently serving a government that had perpetrated or allowed numerous atrocities to be committed upon its own citizens. By many people's standards, they were unworthy of the loyalty the Spartans had always shown them. It seemed the Chief was one of these people.

 

Not that Linda was any different. She had felt sick to her stomach upon hearing Miller's story and learning, through Dr. Halsey, of many of the other injustices that the UEG and the UNSC were guilty of.

 

Although, if she were being honest with herself, she hadn't been quite as surprised as her leader had seemed to be.

 

Over the course of her career Linda had come across many pieces of intelligence that suggested there was a dark side to the human empire. That there were horrible things being done just out of her sight. She probably could have discovered concrete proof of them if she had had the time to dedicate to them. Unfortunately, the Covenant had demanded nearly all of her attention. She had allowed herself to be complicit in the UEG's activities because if she pursued them, the Covenant might have won and humanity would be extinct. It had been necessary. Even now, looking back on it all, she would probably make the same choices again.

 

But the Human-Covenant War had ended years ago. Why had she never pursued her suspicions before now? Linda had to dwell on this for a long time before she came to an answer. It was not a pleasant one.

 

Linda hadn't pursued her suspicions because the Master Chief did not share them.

 

This was not his fault, of course. The Chief did not have her skills at espionage. He had not learned the things that she had learned. He was a soldier, through and through, and probably the greatest to ever live. However, his physical, day-to-day function was to win battles. It was up to the people who had other skillsets to uncover the truth. People like...

 

People like Linda.

 

Linda realized then that she had allowed herself to become far too dependent upon her leader. Upon her older brother. She had grown to look to him for guidance in everything, to the point where she didn't even consider exploring avenues that he did not explicitly approve of. She still had her clandestine hobby, of course, but it had remained just that: a hobby. She had not allowed her unique perspective to influence her in any major way. She had not explored any subject that could not be directly connected to Blue Team's current and potential military performance. Whatever his opinions were, Linda would attempt to mimic them; his perspective was her perspective. More than that, she had become emotionally dependent upon him. His confusion at the recent revelations had made it impossible for Linda to center herself because she had been relying on the Chief for her own stability. It had taken an entire day for her to simply be able to analyze the situation as she was now. This was an eon for a Spartan. And Spartans typically didn't have surplus time to waste.

 

She had artificially limited herself, which was a fatal mistake for a soldier to make. She needed to rectify this.

 

She would still take orders, of course. The Chief was a better soldier and leader than she could ever be. He had earned his place as Blue Lead. But Linda would be careful not to lean on him too much, anymore. She couldn't afford to be thrown completely off balance just because he couldn't be there for her.

 

Linda was part of a team. She was Blue Two, Linda-058, a Spartan II supersoldier. But she was also Linda. She was an individual, with her own skills and resources to utilize. And she would do so.

 

_Now if only I could get out of this stupid bed_ , she thought with frustration. 

 

She reached over to her compad; she might as well get some more research done.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

There was little hope that Linda would find any leads in the classified files she had stolen from the Administrative Building. She had exhausted all likely locations to find anything that could help them locate the Forerunner ruins they had originally come to Meridian to find. Besides, these documents mostly pertained to the colony's finances. She had taken them because she had grown suspicious of the setup of the colony. Something just didn't seem to add up to her.

 

It took a while for her decryption program to unlock the files. The electronic protection was surprisingly robust for a terraforming operation.

 

When Linda examined the documents, she quickly understood why.

 

Meridian was dying. No...that wasn't right. It was already dead. The Liang-Dortmund Company was just preventing it from being resuscitated.

 

The way the operation was supposed to work was simple. The Covenant plasma bombardment had converted a substantial portion of Meridian's topsoil into raw silicates which could be used in a variety of products, from insulation to health treatments. The Liang-Dortmund Company would harvest them, sell them, and then use the majority of the profits to finance the terraforming process which would restore Meridian to a fully inhabitable world. The company would then have substantial land and development rights to continue their investment into the far future.

 

Liang-Dortmund had indeed been harvesting and selling silicates. They had indeed been making a profit. They had not, however, been using said profits to finance the terraforming. They had not completely abandoned it, of course. They had signed a contract with the UEG that demanded they finance the restoration process. However, they had only allocated enough resources to make it  _look_ like they were still committed to terraforming. Currently, there was not enough invested to even keep the process moving forward. In fact, Meridian shouldn't even be inhabitable to the extent that it was. 

 

Where was the money going, then? It took only moments to discover: the money had flowed towards Company headquarters and the Inner Colonies. The profits were being used for various industries, most of which Liang-Dortmund had a direct stake in, all of which disproportionately favored those worlds closest to Earth.

 

How had the company been allowed to get away with this? Surely the UEG wasn't so incompetent to miss such egregious fraud. Linda took to the 'net and discovered that, in fact, there were several groups that had been claiming for years that the terraforming projects were just a front for further exploiting the Outer Colonies. The groups had either been dismissed as Insurrectionist propagandists or ignored entirely. Linda also discovered that Liang-Dortmund had given substantial campaign contributions to select members of the UEG senate, members who had gone on to become the staunchest defenders of the restoration initiative.

 

So. Meridian had been written off. Why, then, wasn't it already dead? Linda continued searching, trying to find out why the surface of Meridian hadn't been reduced to an uninhabitable wasteland by the neglected terraforming. She had to dig deep in the records, looking in the electronic equivalent of cluttered corners and sub-basements. Eventually, she discovered another layer of encryption on a series of files stored under the 'Sanitation Expenditures' heading. Suspicious, Linda applied her decryption programs once again.

 

It took even longer to unlock these files than it had the whole set. She was definitely on to something.

 

When she finally gained access, Linda was once again stunned.

 

It seemed that Governor Sloan, the rampant AI that was currently in charge of the colony, had decided to meet fraud with fraud. He had been consistently under-reporting the value of the finds that the automated mining sites were harvesting. He had then made arrangements that the excess profits would be transferred to a private account he controlled, which he would then draw from to continue the terraforming process, albeit at a far slower pace. It was all rather complicated and economically savvy. Linda wondered if the donor whose brain had been used to create Sloan had been some sort of economist...

 

Well, there it was. Her questions were answered. The only question now, was what would she do with this information?

 

If she were going strictly by the book, Linda would immediately report her findings to the federal authorities. They would likely order Sloan to be taken off-line and the embezzlement stopped. Logically, they would also demand that Liang-Dortmund resume fully funding the terraforming. 

 

However, Linda was no fool. She knew blatant corruption when she saw it. If she reported what she had found, the only thing that would change would be that  _all_ of the profits would go toward company headquarters and the Inner Colonies. The terraforming would go into full relapse, Meridian would die again, and all of the dreams of Cortez, Collins, and the other colonists would come to nothing.

 

Had Linda discovered this a day before, she would have taken no action until she had consulted the Master Chief. Now, though, she considered her course more thoughtfully.

 

Linda erased the data. All of the files. She even went so far as to reset her compad to its factory defaults, thus making absolutely sure that all of the data was gone forever. She had backups for the other sensitive information and programs, of course.

 

The Master Chief might not be happy. She would, of course, be telling him about this the next chance she got. There would be no more secrets in this family. But this wasn't part of their mission. She could make her own decision about this. If he really thought the data needed to be reported, if he made it a direct order...well, she would deal with that if it came.

 

The hospital room's lights dimmed. The door automatically closed, and locked. Linda's connection to the 'net was severed remotely. She felt a spike of dread. Had someone seen her?

 

A com-panel on the wall activated its holographic emitter. Projected before her was a...bizarre figure.

 

She could tell that the projected 3D image was supposed to be a human, but whatever system was responsible for it had clearly stopped being able to function properly. The resolution varied wildly. Various parts of the form would appear fully textured and lifelike before blinking into a fuzzy haze without transition. Bizarre geometric shapes randomly appeared and disappeared all across the space the holographic image took up, often seeming to take the place of the regular body parts like some sort of digital tumor. Linda could see, more by color than anything else, that it was wearing some kind of yellow overalls. There was also some kind of neon orange covering over the top of its head which she supposed was meant to be a hard-hat, but now simply resembled a mess of polygons smeared over someone's scalp. The flashlight in the center resembled a bizarre, misshapen third eye rather than a light source. The program had difficulty depicting movement correctly, the arms seeming to to teleport into a hands-on-hip position. Linda remembered the glimpse she had seen in the introductory video shown upon her arrival on Meridian. She knew who she was looking at.

 

Governor Sloan.

 

He spoke in a garbled voice. Linda could tell that it was not intentionally altered, like some in ONI did to hide their identity, but rather from simple malfunction. It must take every bit of his processing power just to keep himself cognizant and performing his self-appointed duties.

 

His words came out with a clear echo. The echo sounded like the generic, toneless monotone one hears from low-grade translation software. It was a bizarre effect that increased the feeling of the uncanny that radiated out of the Governor's presence. He was just close enough to a normally functioning being to be thoroughly off-putting. What he had to say was short, and to the point.

 

“ _ **I never thought I'd thank the UNSC for anything...but I do thank you, Spartan**_ _ **.**_ ”

 

The holographic image vanished as quickly as it had arrived. The door unlocked and opened, Linda's compad reestablished its connection to the 'net, and the lights returned to their full illumination. Within minutes Dr. Halsey rushed into the room, saying that Linda's treatment had been unexpectedly and inexplicably fast-tracked. She would be able to go into surgery within an hour.

 

Linda was going to have a lot to explain to Blue Lead.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Kelly twitched, knocking over a beaker of valuable medicine. The precious liquid splashed onto the clinic floor.

 

_Damn stims!_ Kelly thought, grabbing a mop to clean up the now-useless chemicals. The effects of her abuse of stimulants were becoming harder to ignore. Yet, she had no choice. Her extreme work load and schedule had kept her from getting any meaningful rest since she began her work in the medical clinic. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open, most of the time.

 

At least it kept her mind too occupied to think about what she had learned yesterday. Not that she was running away, of course.

 

“Everything okay in here?” Evelyn Collins asked. Apparently she had finished visiting another patient and had seen Kelly's error while passing the clinic's lab. Kelly forced a smile. It was becoming harder and harder to do that.

 

“Yes, just a little mistake. Everything's fine,” Kelly responded, hoping she would believe it. She stowed the cleaning gear, removed the sterile gloves she had been wearing, and thoroughly washed her hands.

 

Collins nodded before handing her a prescription slip. “Dr. Pym prescribed some more of these meds I've been taking. I'll need about a liter of it by the end of the week,” she explained. Kelly accepted the slip, telling Collins that she would get right on brewing a batch of the chemical. After the prospector had left, Kelly examined the note. Her eyes nearly burst out of her skull.

 

“No...this can't be...” Kelly said quietly to herself.

 

“I'm afraid it is,” Dr. Halsey said, closing the door as she entered the lab. She took a seat on one of the stools. “I'm afraid Ms. Collins has the condition called 'rust lung.'”

 

“But—this chemical is toxic!” Kelly objected. “If she takes it for too long, it will build up in her system and prevent her lungs from working at all!”

 

Dr. Halsey smiled bitterly. “Very good. I'm glad to see my biology lessons weren't wasted,” she said. Halsey continued her explanation before Kelly could express her horror at joking about such a thing. “Unfortunately, Collins has a unique, and quite advanced, case of the disorder. Not surprising, given the amount of time she has spent on Meridian and out in the glasslands. This is the only treatment that will delay the debilitating effects of the condition.”

 

“But it'll kill her!” Kelly all but shouted.

 

Dr. Halsey's face lost all pretense of grim humor. “If she doesn't get this treatment, her lungs will shut down in a matter of months. I've explained this all to her. By taking this treatment, she extends her lifespan by a few years. She is going to die no matter what. You're right—taking this chemical  _will_ kill her. However, if she doesn't take it, her disease will kill her  _faster_ .” 

 

This was too much. Too much. Kelly had started this position intending to save people. She had helped many. There was no denying that. But there were so many she had been unable to help. So many she simply could not get to in time. Several of the colonists who had been killed by the riots might have survived if she and the rest of Meridian's medical community hadn't been so painfully understaffed and underequipped. She was a Spartan. She was supposed to do the impossible. Yet, she found herself unable to beat simple logistics. She couldn't overcome the laws of physics.

 

And she couldn't overcome the neglect and abuse that Meridian was suffering under.

 

Suddenly, all she had learned from Miller and Halsey the previous day came rushing to the front of her mind. How much pain, how much sorrow, had been caused by the government she served? How many had she been unable to save during the Human-Covenant War simply because of the neglect she had seen ever since she arrived on this planet? How many Army units had been too poorly trained and too poorly equipped to defend their homeworlds? How many worlds had they been ordered to fall back from purely because the higher ups deemed them unprofitable? How many had died because of them? Because of her?

 

Kelly leaned against the wall. She quickly found herself too overwhelmed to stand, and slid down to the floor. She couldn't think. She could barely breathe. The world seemed to spin around her.

 

Suddenly, she felt arms embrace her. She felt hands nestle her head in another's shoulder. She felt her hair being stroked lovingly. She heard her mother's voice say to her:

 

“This doesn't make you weak. It makes you _human_.”

 

That did it. The dam broke, her emotions poured out, and Kelly cried in a way she hadn't allowed herself to since she was a little girl. When she was done, she fell into a deep, deep sleep.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The jail cell in Fred's Meridian Security Station was, like everything else in the colony, cramped. There was a simple cot that could fold up into the wall, an exposed toilet and sink, and nothing else. Even so, there was little room to move around. There would barely be enough room to do pushups.

 

Not that Dmitri Ivanov was exercising. He had lied down on the cot as soon as he arrived and had not moved since, except to eat or use the toilet. At least, that's what the officer currently on guard duty had told Fred when the Spartan suggested the man take a break, offering to watch the cells for a few minutes. The officer readily agreed, heading off to do whatever it was he intended to do.

 

_Alone at last,_ Fred reflected. Now was the time he would get some answers from Ivanov. After the uncertainty sown into all of Blue Team following yesterday's revelations, he felt he needed something concrete. He needed  _something_ answered directly and resolutely.

 

Fred walked up to the transparent, hard plastic door. There were several holes in the door near the ceiling, both to facilitate air flow and to ensure parties outside and inside the cell could communicate even in the event of a power outage. Fred called out to the occupant, eager to begin this conversation.

 

Ivanov ignored him. Fred knew he was awake. His augmented hearing could pick up the man's breathing and he could tell from the changing pattern that Ivanov had heard him.

 

“I know you can hear me, Ivanov,” Fred said. “Booze may turn you blind, but it doesn't make you deaf.” The man continued to lie in bed, pretending to be asleep. Fred sighed. “Well, if that's how you want to play it, I suppose I'll have to talk _at_ you instead of _with_ you. How do you feel about me throwing some ideas for a pop song I've been writing at you? Bouncing 'em off a wall, like.”

 

Ivanov sighed and groaned. “Just can't leave a man alone, can ya?” he asked irately, sitting up and glaring at Fred through the door.

 

Fred was pleased. Progress. “I just want to ask some questions,” he said.

 

“Questions. Right,” Ivanov snorted. He looked at Fred with piercing eyes, seeming to discern the exact reason for this visit. The penetrating quality of the stare was soon joined by a deep seeded cynicism and resignation to one's fate. Ivanov was clearly not an optimist.

 

_So this is what he's like sober,_ Fred reflected.

 

“Let me guess, you saw that old box of medals Singh's probably bought back for me again and you wanna know how I wound up like this,” Ivanov asked rhetorically. “That about right?”

 

Fred nodded.

 

“And I suppose I won't get rid of you until I do?” the prisoner asked.

 

Fred nodded again.

 

Ivanov sighed. “What the hell. It's not like I've got anything better to do, anyway.” He took a breath before starting his story. “So, you know I was a marine. No big surprise, given the neural implant and fake arm,” he said, gesturing to the metal prosthetic attached to his right shoulder. “I got this in 2552, right towards the end of the War.” The veteran laughed. “Y'know, it's funny. At the time I figured, this wasn't so bad. The War was over, so it wasn't like I was bein' kept from defending my people. Sure, losin' my arm sucked, but I figured I could just get a cloned one. That kinda operation's expensive, but I figured I would get enough assistance from Uncle UNSC.” Ivanov scowled.

 

Fred got the horrible feeling he knew where this was going. He was right.

 

“They wouldn't pay for it. Years of service, so many medals I could have 'em melted into a life-size statue of me, and they wouldn't pay to give me a new goddamn arm! The veterans' benefits package clearly stated that they'd provide one, but they didn't want to shell out the cash. The system was backed up, they'd get back to me, we're very sorry for the inconvenience, blah blah blah, every time I called I heard the same shit. Even then, when I was refused by the federal authorities, I figured it wasn't hopeless.” Ivanov laughed bitterly. “I went home to New Petersburg, the Outer Colony I'd grown up on. I figured they'd want to take care of their favorite son, right?” The veteran scowled. “No. Even back home, noone would give me an arm. And that sure as shit didn't help me find a new job. You have any idea how hard it is acclimating to a civilian work force when you've spent you're entire adult life fighting a war? Nearly all of my skills were useless in civilian life. I'd need to go back to school just to learn a new trade. Not that I could afford to. Another promise for service that noone wanted to foot the bill for.”

 

So, he had been denied promised rewards for military service. Fred supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Back during his training in the Spartan II program Dr. Halsey had insisted that all of the cadets receive full eduction on human history. Fred had learned at a young age that nearly every advanced human civilization in history had neglected to care for its veterans. The legendary age of piracy in the colonial era which had spawned so many stories and amusement park rides had largely been caused by the neglect of the large number of British sailors who had been trained to fight the Spanish armada and then left to their own devices when the conflict was over. Finding it difficult to adapt to civilian life and having no place in the military, many turned to piracy. History had repeated itself after humanity turned to space. A few minor rebellions of planetary colonies had necessitated the buildup of military forces which, upon completion of the conflict, were neglected by the UNSC and society at large. Many of the pirate and Insurrectionist groups owed their success to the experience of these veterans.

 

“That wasn't the worst part, though,” Ivanov continued, to Fred's surprise. “No...” the veteran stared Fred directly in the eyes. “You wanna know how I got this arm?” he asked. He continued, not caring about the answer. “I got it when my entire unit got wiped out. Brothers I'd fought with for 30 years...all gone,” he said, his gaze falling to the floor and his voice falling to barely above a whisper. “I'm the only one left...” He paused here, forcing himself to pull together. He looked at Fred again, clearly feeding his anger to overwhelm his pain. “At the time, I didn't know what, exactly, we were fighting to protect. I don't mean in general. I mean that specific mission. The Covenant had attacked a colony. We were holding the line as long as we could to buy time for some transports to load up and escape. I figured we were covering a civilian evacuation or something. Then, years later, I looked into what was actually being taken. You know what it was?” Ivanov paused here. “No, really. Guess.”

 

Fred struggled to come up with the most likely answer. “Helium-3?” he asked.

 

“Ha!” the veteran laughed derisively. “At least that would be defensible. Ya need helium to run fusion reactors, which you need to power starships. I could understand fighting for that. Can't win a war without a fleet, after all. No...that's not what it was.” Ivanov looked directly at Fred again. The Spartan could see pain, mixed with anger and deep betrayal. “Oranges,” he said.

 

Whatever Fred had been expecting, it certainly wasn't that.

 

“Mother. Fucking. Oranges. 'Cause, ya see, citrus fruits are real tough to grow on terraformed planets, so oranges are worth big bucks. Some fruit company must have paid top dollar to get military protection for their assets. God forbid people go without orange juice! Better send in the fucking marines!” Ivanov put his hand over his eyes, crying and chuckling to himself. “Goddamn corporate influence. My brothers died to protect some fucking bottom line. _That's_ when my drinking started. _That's_ when I became,” he gestured to himself, impoverished, disheveled, and imprisoned, “this.”

 

_So. Now I have my answer_ , Fred thought, not entirely glad for it. He was about to thank the man and leave when Ivanov suddenly stood up, walked over to the door, and glared at Fred with raw, burning hatred.

 

“Hear that? Huh?” he asked in an accusatory voice. “That military, that nation, the one you're so damn proud of—they did this to me. I can see it in you. You've got 'Proud to Serve' written all over you. Bet you and your little club didn't have to go through anything like this. Bet you all had it nice and cushy protecting some rich Inner Colony fat cat while everyone else died for you--”

 

“Fuck you!” Fred shouted. Ivanov looked taken aback. Fred himself would have been astonished at his own reaction, if he weren't so busy yelling. “You think I haven't felt pain like you?! I had a unit, too. I'd known them all since we were 6. 6! We fucking grew up together! We were the only family we all had! Now there's just 4 of us left. You know how many of them died in front of me?” he asked. He didn't wait for an answer any more than Ivanov had during _his_ story. “A fucking ton. I can remember them all. William. Li. Joshua. Isaac. Vinh. Solomon. Arthur. So many others...” Fred pulled himself together. “I may not have had it as bad as you, but don't tell me I don't know your pain. Don't tell me I haven't bled, that my _family_ hasn't bled, in service to people who don't deserve it!”

 

Dmitri Ivanov just stood there, staring silently. Fred stood with an aggressive posture, barely keeping himself from pacing the floor, panting as if he had just completed some kind of Olympian event.

 

“I guess...” Ivanov said slowly, “that was uncalled for...”

 

The pair just stared at each other. Then, suddenly and at the same time, they both burst into uncontrollable laughter. It took several minutes for the fit to run its course, and when it was done they were both lying on the floor, clutching their stomachs, with tears running down their faces. It was just such a _banal_ thing to say, the contrast with how emotionally charged the conversation had become was too much for either of them. Both of the old soldiers sat up, wiped their faces, and reexamined each other.

 

“Maybe we're both a bit fucked up,” Fred mused.

 

“Amen to that,” Ivanov agreed.

 

They both shook their heads. The guard Fred had covered for returned, and the Spartan left to head for home. He turned the corner in the hallway, and immediately bumped into Sgt. Singh.

 

Singh was looking at Fred carefully. Had he overheard the conversation? “Sorry, sir...Is something wrong?” Fred asked.

 

Singh continued examining him for several moments. Then, a smile spread across his face. “No...I don't think there is,” he said cryptically. Fred had had enough for one day. He nodded to his superior and moved to leave.

 

“Oh, Officer Barton,” he said just as Fred went past him. “One of those Spartans that just arrived was asking if anyone here had seen a group of 5 suspicious characters arrive on Meridian in the past few months. Seemed to think they were dangerous.”

 

Fred froze. He turned around. Singh still had that odd smile on his face. “...afraid I haven't, sir...” Fred replied.

 

“Neither have I,” Sgt. Singh said, turning around and heading toward his office.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The members of Blue Team gathered in the clinic the following evening. They looked at each other. John, Fred, Linda, and Kelly, with Dr. Halsey standing unobtrusively in the back of the room. They saw in each other's eyes the pain and struggle that had come with the recent revelations.

 

John saw the recovery and balanced resolution in Linda's eyes. He was glad his sister had centered herself again, and was deeply sorry that he had failed her.

 

Linda saw the renewed conviction and moral certainty in John's eyes. She could also see the remorse in them. She gave him one of her rare genuine smiles, knowing he could tell the difference, and nodded in acceptance of his apology.

 

They could all see the personal guilt and emotional exhaustion in Kelly's eyes. They could all see the disillusionment and sorrow in Fred's eyes. All of these things were reflected in each other. They were all together in their guilt. Their remorse. Their anger and feelings of betrayal.

 

Their resolution of _never again._

 

Something would be done. Something had to be done. They would no longer ignore the plight of those ground under the heel of the current order. They would fulfill their purpose, protecting humanity from the domestic threats, as well as the alien.

 

First, however, they had to deal with the Guardians. The Master Chief confirmed with Dr. Halsey that this should still be their current course. Oddly, the Chief noticed a strange look of concern when she answered his query. It didn't bother him; she would inform him if he needed to know. They would stop the Guardians.

 

_And find Cortana,_ John silently added to himself. He would not fail her again, either.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Thankfully, Linda had full freedom of movement again. She would not be battle ready for another day or so, but the clone organs had all taken well, and she would soon make a full recovery. They were all jubilant at their sister's restored health. The details of _how_ she had gotten her treatment, however, had been rather alarming. The Master Chief was grateful for the assistance, but he was not pleased to learn that Governor Sloan had somehow discovered their identities. At least the AI seemed to be sympathetic toward them.

 

_Unless he's setting us up for a trap._ The Chief banished the thought, dismissing it as illogical. If he wanted to turn them in, the last thing he would do would be to help get one of them operational again. He may be rampant, but he was clearly still competent enough to run Meridian. The Mater Chief marveled at the sheer willpower and determination Sloan must have had to hold himself together enough to take care of his people.

 

Then, Linda told him about how she had discovered the evidence of Sloan's criminal activity...and then deleted all of it.

 

“You did _what_?” he asked.

 

Linda was resolute in her answer. She clearly believed she had done the right thing. “I destroyed data that would have lead to the destruction of Meridian. I believe it was the moral thing to do and I stand by it. If you would like to recover the data, it is possible to get another copy from the administrative servers.” The expression on her face made clear what she though of  _that_ idea.

 

The Master Chief was surprised. He hadn't seen her so...independent before. He took a minute to contemplate it.

 

John decided that he approved. Linda was not a drone, after all. So long as she kept him fully notified, and nothing she did jeopardized their mission or put human beings in danger, he trusted her to make her own decisions. Besides...he doubted he would have done any different in her shoes, now that he knew the truth.

 

The Chief nodded his approval to Blue Two. She seemed relieved, if he was reading her customarily stoic posture and expression correctly.

 

They all moved on to other topics of conversation. They discussed the people they had met on Meridian. Sgt. Singh. Michelle Cortez. Dmitri Ivanov. Yao Miller. Evelyn Collins. Dr. Halsey had been right. There had been much that their previous experiences had not prepared them for in regard to the Outer Colonies. However, they were Spartans. Thus, they did not give in to despair, nor did they return to their former mistakes. They did what they had always done: they recognized their past faults and adapted so as not to repeat them. Halsey had taught them that much, at least.

 

The good doctor herself was still standing in the back of the room. She seemed to be trying to stay out of the way, to allow them to work through this without her. She had a small smile on her face and...was she crying?

 

John frowned.

 

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Halsey?” the Master Chief asked.

 

Halsey promptly wiped a hand across her eyes. “No, no, of course not,” she was quick to assure him. John simply raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. His mother grumbled, displeased. It only lasted a moment though. She soon moved forward, joining them. “You've all grown so much,” she said. “So much since I first met you all...” Here Dr. Halsey seemed to tear up again. She paused, seeming to rally herself, before continuing.

 

“I...I've never had the courage to approach this topic before,” Dr. Halsey said, hesitantly. The Master Chief was stunned. Halsey rarely, if ever, allowed herself to appear vulnerable, let alone afraid. Whatever this topic was, it had to be of enormous importance. She continued, saying, “I am referring to how this all began. The Spartan II Program. How you were all...conscripted into it.”

 

The members of Blue Team all looked at each other, mildly perplexed. This was simply not a subject matter that they had given much consideration before. At least, not in open conversation. Dr. Halsey continued, seeming not to notice their confusion.

 

“As you know, I was the founder of the program,” she said. “I devised it, proposed it to ONI Command, and oversaw every phase of its execution. I...” Dr. Halsey paused. It seemed to take her a moment to muster the courage to say what she wanted to say. “I'm sorry.”

 

Now they were truly baffled.

 

At least, the Master Chief was. Why would she be sorry?

 

“...I'm afraid I don't understand, Doctor,” he said tentatively, feeling like he was back in training, having failed to learn a crucial lesson.

 

Dr. Halsey blinked, seeing the lack of understanding in her 'children's' eyes. She chuckled. “Of course. How could I forget?” she said, mostly to herself, before turning back to the Spartans. “This is the only life you've ever known. Of course you wouldn't understand.”

 

Dr. Halsey looked each one of them in the eye, trying to convey the severity and earnestness of her words. “I had you conscripted when you were 6 years old. I had you taken from your families, stolen away in the dead of night. I had you replaced with flash clones who died within a few years, just to make sure noone suspected the truth. I had you forced into a program to make you into the ultimate soldiers, a program you were not allowed to reject.” Dr. Halsey began crying again, but she made no attempt to hide it. “I took your lives away from you, and for that, I can never truly atone. Please...forgive me.”

 

John, Fred, Linda, and Kelly were all dumbfounded. They had never seen this side of their mother before. They had never suspected that she harbored such feelings. Only Kelly appeared to understand, seeming as if this explained some great mystery that had always bothered her.

 

“This is why you were always sad, back then,” Kelly said softly. “Why you always seemed like something was bothering you, even when you were obviously happy. When we had passed your tests.”

 

Dr. Halsey nodded in confirmation. “Correct. I was happy you were succeeding...but I could never quite force myself to forget what I was doing to you.”

 

The Master Chief still didn't understand. “If you always felt this way, why did you found the program in the first place?” he asked.

 

“I did it because I believed it was necessary,” Halsey replied. She fell into her 'instructor' tone of voice, although it was accompanied by a negative emotionality that had never been present before. It made for a bizarre, off-putting combination. “I knew that the UEG was about to collapse. The Outer Colonies had been abused for too long. Their desire for independence and the right to direct their own destiny had grown too strong, too pervasive. If something wasn't done, a civil war was inevitable. All of human space would have erupted in fire, and billions would have died in the carnage. I believed that by creating a small force of supersoldiers the UNSC could perform surgical strikes that would remove any and all leadership from the Insurrection. I believed that it was the only way to prevent hostilities from growing beyond the point of control.” Halsey smiled bitterly, clearly feeling an old grudge she had long held against herself. “I am not blind to my own arrogance. I have always been confident that I knew everything. That I would always be able to see the proper course of action and execute it. This arrogance led me to do many things...unforgivable things. Things I would never do again if I were given the opportunity”

 

The more Dr. Halsey explained herself, the more confused the Master Chief became. “Are you saying you were wrong? About the civil war?” he asked.

 

Dr. Halsey shook her head. “No, civil war was quite inevitable unless some type of drastic action was taken. In fact, given the continued and worsening policies of the UEG post War, we are more than likely back on track to one in the near future.”

 

“Then why?” John asked insistently, putting aside any horror at such a possibility to deal with later. “Why has your opinion changed?”

 

“My perspective has changed because I realize the error in it,” she answered. “Not in a practical sense, but in a moral one. I was looking purely at the big picture, but in doing so I had forgotten that the big picture is made of little pictures. It is a mosaic, not a single image. I should have been trying to save _everyone_ , not enslave you for the greater good.”

 

“If you had done that, you would have failed. You _can't_ save everyone; noone can.” the Master Chief insisted.

 

Dr. Halsey set her features. John could tell that every ounce of conviction in her being was poured into her words. “No. I couldn't have. I could have tried, though. I  _should_ have tried. Even if I failed, it would still have been better than resorting to the... _evils_ that I utilized. Don't forget, John—any of you—that many of the atrocities that have angered you so were committed by people who believed they were serving a 'Greater Good'.”

 

All of the Spartan IIs sat back and digested that for several minutes. What Dr. Halsey had said had challenged the basic assumptions about themselves that they had held for nearly their entire lives. Assumptions that, they now realized, had been deliberately instilled during their training.

 

The Master Chief frowned. He could tell this was really troubling his mother. His leader. He decided, once again, that the truth was the best tool to use here.

 

“I don't know if it will help,” he said cautiously, “but I can't imagine choosing any other life for myself. Being a soldier is what I'm good at. It's important. And if nothing else, I know I've done real good with my life.” He tried to fill his words with as much conviction that Halsey's had had. The good doctor looked surprised.

 

“I don't regret being a Spartan, either,” Fred added. “I think I would have become a soldier, as well. It's been hard at times, but being a Spartan is what I was made for.”

 

Linda spoke up next. “I don't really see the point in 'what ifs',” she said. “What matters is what  _is_ , and what is is that I'm a good soldier. A damn good sniper, too,” she added with a bit of uncustomary pride. They all chuckled a bit, with the exception of Dr. Halsey, who still looked stunned.

 

“I've thought about it,” Kelly admitted next. They all looked to her in surprise. “There have been times that I've wondered what I could have been. However,” she added insistently, “I also don't regret becoming a Spartan. We helped save the human race. Whatever bad we may have been manipulated into doing or allowing, we did real good. Probably more than we ever would have been able to do on our own.”

 

The Master Chief noticed that Dr. Halsey still seemed to be struggling with what was happening. What was wrong?

 

Suddenly, he had an epiphany.

 

“I believe what we're trying to say, Doctor,” John told his mother, “is that we forgive you.”

 

Fred, Linda, and Kelly all looked to John, seeming surprised. After a moment, though, they all nodded in agreement.

 

Dr. Halsey's face turned to stone. Did she not believe them?

 

Halsey burst into tears. They were not weak tears. This was true weeping, with all of the indignity and vulnerability one could possibly have in such an emotional outpouring. John thought he could detect joy at their admission, but mixed in with it was guilt and unspeakable sorrow. It was as if every emotion Halsey had ever struggled with was overwhelming her. He didn't know what to do.

 

Fortunately, like always, Kelly knew more about human interaction than he ever would. She simply got up, walked over to Dr. Halsey, knelt down to where she sat, and hugged her. The rest of her siblings all got up and joined her. Thus, they sat, cradling their mother as a lifetime of regret and suppressed emotion poured out, and those who loved her were there to keep her from crumbling from the shock of it all.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Beneath the surface of Meridian, far below the family working through the greatest challenges they had ever faced, something ancient stirred. A signal from an infinite distance away activated systems that had lain dormant for tens of millenia. Factories, advanced beyond human comprehension, began producing horrors the likes of which the universe had only ever seen in its darkest nightmares. Behind it all, towering over the Forerunner complex, was a single, terrible entity, whose existence could spell doom for an entire galaxy.

 

The Guardian was awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm going to be direct about this: CRYING IS NOT WEAKNESS! Crying is an emotional/psychological coping mechanism. It is often the healthiest, and therefore most productive, response to experiencing something horrible. In fact, some researchers have hypothesized that one of the reasons women tend to live longer than men is because it is more socially acceptable for them to express their emotions through methods like crying. What makes a person strong is how they deal with what caused their crying, and Kelly deals with it swiftly and decisively. She doesn't let it destroy her.
> 
> Note: This is probably the most ambitious chapter I've written yet. The emotional and personal struggles that the Spartan IIs go through as individuals and as a group are, in my mind, the most interesting thing I could explore in this story. The fact that it is all primarily cerebral makes it far trickier to depict than anything in the previous chapters. I've been planning this since I started writing this story in October. Any feedback on how I did would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Note: Dr. Halsey's perspective and character arc are taken from the original Nylund novels. Until Halo 5 came out, nothing pissed me off more about the newer stories than how badly they mischaracterized Dr. Halsey. This was a character of great complexity and moral conflict, one that went through the most change throughout the books. I find what she did ethically repugnant, but I could empathize with a person who was trying to save as many lives as she could and never stopped feeling terrible about what she was doing. The newer novels, and to some extent Halo 4, turned her into a Nazi scientist archetype that started the Spartan II project just to see if she could. It was an insulting reduction in character and complexity. If I can give 1 thing to Halo 5, it's that it seemed to dial back on the Halsey hate. Of course, it dialed back on everything story related, so I guess that doesn't really count for much.
> 
> Note: If you think Ivanov's unit being sacrificed for the sake of fruit was unrealistic, I suggest you look up the term 'banana republic' and the United States' interference with South America in the 20th Century. People did die for the sake of fruit companies turning a profit. 
> 
> Note: As you may have guessed by that last bit, we're nearing the endgame, at least for the Meridian arc. I've set all of the dominoes up. Time to knock 'em down.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

“This is bullshit!” Tanaka all but shouted.

 

Fireteam Osiris was currently in the quarters they had commandeered within the Administrative Building. Spartan Vale and Spartan Tanaka had been doing some digging in the Liang-Dortmund Company files they had requisitioned, searching for any sign of tampering that could give them a lead on Blue Team's current position. Apparently, they had found something.

 

“Is this about somethin' specific or just a general observation?” Spartan Buck quipped. “Either way, it's safe money I'll agree with you.” He had been examining his own files, and was therefore as in the dark as Locke.

 

“We were examining the company's financial records and noticed some discrepancies,” Vale explained. “Turns out, the lion's share of the profits for mining silicates aren't being funneled into the terraforming operation like they're supposed to be.”  


Buck seemed confused. “Then where are they goin'?” he asked.

 

Tanaka snorted contemptuously. “Where do you think? The company head honchos are keepin' it all for themselves. Lining their own pockets, like they always do.” Tanaka seemed to settle down then, although Locke could tell she was still seething inside. Vale nodded her head in confirmation that Tanaka's statements were accurate.

 

“I don't get it,” Buck said. “Terraforming makes huge underground pockets of Helium-3, doesn't it? Don't the companies that run these operations get to mine that stuff? Wouldn't that make them more money?”

 

“You honestly think they can plan that far ahead?” Tanaka asked cynically. “That takes years. Corporate types are just kindergartners in suits. Once you put anyone in a position of power they start acting like little kids, and planning ahead is something only adults do.” Buck looked unconvinced.

 

“She's more right than you might think,” Vale assured him. Tanaka smirked at that, seeming to take it in stride as an insult. Vale continued, “The majority of an executive's yearly income doesn't come from their salary, it comes from their bonuses. Bonuses are based on annual, and sometimes even quarterly, profits, which encourages short-term thinking. Focusing solely on mining silicates and not reinvesting in the terraforming makes them more money _now_. The fact that it will cost them billions in a few decades doesn't even enter their calculations.”

 

“Never mind all of the people out there breaking their backs for nothing,” Tanaka grumbled. She looked at Locke, who had until this point remained silent, and glared at him. “What about you, Big Brother? I'm sure you know something about all this. Is it all a big misunderstanding?” Everyone turned to their squad leader.

 

Locke knew that he should lie. He knew that official ONI policy was to deflect interest and promise to investigate any allegations as soon as possible. However, he knew that the other members of his fireteam would see clear through that kind of dodge. Such a move would diminish their trust in him, and therefore their unit cohesion, to unacceptable levels. He needed them united if they were to stand a chance against Blue Team. Honesty, however tricky it might be here, would probably serve him best.

 

“They're probably using the money to fund other investments the company has made,” Locke answered bluntly. He could tell they were all taken off guard by his honesty. Good. He continued, pressing his advantage. “You might not remember,” he said sarcastically, “but the UEG was fighting for its existence for the better part of 3 decades. The Covenant glassed dozens of planets. Croplands were incinerated, factories destroyed, entire populations of specialists wiped out. Every industry suffered—agrarian, military, personal electronics, you name it. Star systems throughout the UEG, Inner Colony and Outer Colony alike, have been suffering from full-blown economic depression for years. If the Human-Covenant War hadn't ended when it did, the UEG probably would have collapsed under the weight of its own ravaged economy within months. The UNSC would have fallen apart without government backing...and the Covenant would have mopped up what was left.” Locke looked each one of them in the eye, grateful that Spartan IVs tended to leave their helmets off during down time. “What's going on here isn't pretty, but it's this kind of enterprise that kept the human government in one piece for the past few years. Without the booming silicates industry, we might all be killing each other in some kind of war of successor states right now.”

 

Tanaka, Vale, and Buck seemed to consider this for a moment. Maybe they would see reason...

 

Buck was the first to respond. “Even if that's so,” he said, “I still don't like lying to these people. I mean, if it's necessary to put off terraforming, why not just say that? Why let these people work themselves ragged for a lie?”

 

“You mean you actually buy this bullshit?” Tanaka asked incredulously.

 

“It's the truth, Tanaka,” Locke insisted. “Take food, for instance. You grew up in the Outer Colonies. You have to know that most of the UEG's agrarian worlds were in the comparatively undeveloped Outer planets. Famine was a real, widespread thing throughout the UEG. We're still struggling to keep everyone fed.” He tried to soften his eyes a bit. It was rather difficult. “I was one of the lucky ones who found his way to the Inner Colonies when my home got glassed. Trust me...things were tough.”

 

Vale spoke up tentatively, saying, “There's some truth to what he's saying, Tanaka. I saw a lot of the Inner and Outer Colonies growing up, and things were bad all over. However,” she added with emphasis, “the Outer Colonies did have it noticeably worse. At least the middle class still existed in the Inner Colonies, compared to the borderline feudal state a lot of the Outer Colonists lived in.”

 

“Whatever the living conditions in the Outer Colonies may have been,” Locke interrupted, not wanting the conversation to get away from him, “the fact of the matter is that most of the UEG's industrial centers are in the Inner Colonies. This includes military production and even basic infrastructure. The money Liang-Dortmund is taking will be needed if we're ever going to recover from the War.”

 

Tanaka snorted. “Figures. You still don't get it; none of you do. I get that sacrifices are necessary for the greater good, but don't you ever notice that it's always the poor people who have to pay the price?” she asked rhetorically. “The politicians and CEOs get to live it up while everyone else has to starve and die. Or are you telling me that the Liang-Dortmund execs are living in single-room apartments and putting all their money into the UNSC and public works projects?” This question was directed at Locke.

 

He didn't have time for this. They would go back and forth for hours, them obsessing over the little picture without giving any consideration to the big one. Once again, Locke wished he had a proper ONI squad with him or, better yet, no teammates at all.

 

Fortunately, Locke was rescued by a chirp from his compad announcing that he had a message. “We'll continue this later,” he said. The other Spartans seemed displeased, but bowed to his authority. Locke opened the alert...and his jaw nearly dropped open.

 

Apparently ONI Command had been monitoring the social media profiles of the Meridian colonists and had found references to a group of 4 abnormally large military veterans arriving on-world within the last few months. They had even found some images of what were unmistakably the Spartan IIs in civilian work attire. There were few specific details. There seemed to be some sort of coverup protecting the renegade supersoldiers.

 

ONI's conclusion was simple: Governor Sloan was helping Blue Team.

 

Locke immediately stood up and grabbed his helmet. “Load up!” he ordered his subordinates. “We're going to visit the Governor.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“We have the coordinates!” Dr. Halsey exclaimed triumphantly.

 

Halsey and the rest of Blue Team were once again in the clinic after hours. The Master Chief had been worried that, after the previous days events, things would be tense amongst Blue Team. He was relieved to note the exact opposite. Everyone seemed calmer and more at ease than they had since this whole mess had began. With Linda's rapidly recovering health, they should be ready for action soon. He had rarely been so happy to be wrong.

 

“Do you mean we know where the Guardian is?” the Chief asked, not quite believing it. Their time on Meridian had stretched so long it felt like years.

 

“I am _quite_ sure,” Dr. Halsey responded. The Chief could feel the rebuke in her words, chastising him for doubting her. However, she also had a smile on her face. He noted that she too seemed far more at peace than she had previously. Maybe group therapy wasn't a waste of time, after all.

 

The doctor's positive expression quickly vanished from her face. Her skin went pale. “Oh, no...”

 

The Master Chief was on his feet in an instant. “What's wrong?” he asked.

 

“Our satellite has detected active signals beneath the surface...” she said, bleakly. “The Guardian is going to awaken...”  


John felt his blood run cold. “How long do we have?”

 

“No more than a day, I'd estimate,” Dr. Halsey replied.

 

The Master Chief set his features. “Then we don't have any time to lose. Blue Team, gear up!”

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

The lights flickered above Firerteam Osiris as they walked down a rarely used hallway deep in the Administrative Building. There were no alarms, no security doors slamming shut in their way, no Security Officers coming to demand what they were doing in a restricted area. The ONI hacking programs that Locke carried in his suit's systems were more than a match for Sloan, smart AI or not.

 

They came to a locked door. Locke fired up the ONI programs once more and accessed the building's utility network. Since it had started out life as a colony ship, all of the door locks were hooked up to the same network.

 

Including the AI core.

 

The door opened obediently. Locke ordered his squadmates to stand guard outside of the room. He had already informed them of what needed to happen. It was long overdue, anyway.

 

Everything in the room was covered in a layer of dust. Clearly, the Governor didn't receive many visitors down here. Locke moved toward the computer console. He opened a compartment of his gauntlet and pulled out a cable. He connected it to the console and hacked into the AI core maintenance functions. Any organization that could afford AIs was smart enough to plan for the inevitability of rampancy. As such, the physical architecture of the AI core was built so that there would be no way for Sloan to stop Locke from doing what he was about to do.

 

The programs did their work. Locke now had complete access to...no...complete _control_ of Governor Sloan. He copied Sloan's archives to a set of data cubes. Effectively, he was downloading the AI's memories. Locke would soon have access to all of the information that had been denied to him. Within minutes, the process was done. Locke removed the data cubes, inserted them into his field compad, and transferred them to the frigate in orbit. From there, ONI would decode the information and inform Locke of any leads. Part 1 of today's work was done. Oddly, the AI himself had failed to make an appearance.

 

Locke brought up the 'AI Killer' virus suite contained behind the most powerful firewalls ONI had to offer. He prepared to transfer them into the AI core. Liang-Dortmund had set this place up so that it would be impossible for the AI to be transferred out. It made it easier to prevent theft. Now, it would keep Sloan from escaping as the viruses corrupted and destroyed every facet of his being. The company would have to completely reset the system to get rid of the malicious software and install a new AI. Served them right for taking so long.

 

The room's lights dimmed. The holographic projector started up and displayed a humanoid figure that was clearly suffering severe software failure. Ah. The Governor had decided to make an appearance.

 

Locke depolarized his visor. He looked directly into the hologram's 'eyes' as he pushed the button on his gauntlet.

 

The effects were immediate. The hologram's already badly garbled image lost all coherence, turning into a bizarre kaleidoscope of colors, shapes, and lines. The AI did not scream as it died. It didn't beg, didn't cry, and didn't sing 'Daisy Bell'. Instead, it uttered a single sentence, as garbled as its image had been:

 

“ _ **Vanitas vanitatum...et omnia vanitas...”**_

Locke scowled as the holographic display flickered a few times...then cut off. The lights returned to their normal level. Even though there had been no audio before, the room seemed eerily silent. Empty.

 

_Thus died Governor Sloan, traitor and tyrant,_ Locke thought.

 

He exited the AI core, Firerteam Osiris falling into step behind him. He could tell from their body language that they were not happy about this. It didn't matter. They had followed orders. Things might be tough for the colonists in the immediate future, but he assumed that power would just shift downward a rung until company headquarters sent someone to actually run the place. The colonists could handle a few days without a crazy AI giving the orders.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Forerunner signals led Blue Team to a mining site. Specifically, the mining site that Fred had already visited as a Security Officer. The Master Chief suppressed a groan. They had been so close for so long.

 

The set up of the mining site was largely the same as Fred had described it, although the overall size of the site had increased greatly as the mining had gone on. It was still a circular pit lined with equipment. Mining lasers were perched on the rim, ready to cut off vast swaths of silicates. Enormous crushers were located within the pit itself to break up the silicates that managed to remain in one piece. Enormous conveyor systems were used to ferry the resulting debris to waiting transports at the top of the pit.

 

Strangely, all of the machinery seemed to have stopped mid-task. The conveyors had stopped dead, their cargo still in transit. An enormous crane was in the process of lifting what appeared to be a damaged breaker out of the pit itself. Even the scanning equipment, used to monitor for any unusual activity that could threaten the equipment, seemed to be deactivated. Had something happened to Governor Sloan?

 

The Master Chief ordered Blue Team to secure the site. Linda took up a perch on top of the mining equipment lining the pit; the elevation would give her the best possible field of vision. Fred and Kelly moved to secure the interior of the pit itself, which was where Dr. Halsey claimed the signals were coming from. The doctor herself waited patiently aboard the survey vehicle they had commandeered to transport them out there. They did not have the equipment to allow her to handle this task remotely, necessitating her presence there. No one was happy about it, but they had performed similar tasks during the Human-Covenant War. The Chief remained to guard her and coordinate the actions of the rest of the team.

 

The Master Chief kept an eye on his motion tracker, grateful to once again be wearing his MJOLNIR armor. The Spartan IIs had all prepared themselves for this mission, the males shaving their facial hair and the females trimming their hair back to regulation length, thus ensuring that no errant locks interfered with their vision or their interface with the helmets' advanced systems. The Chief had found the experience to be oddly bittersweet. It seemed a part of him would miss the cover identity of Steven Rogers, prospector. He banished the thought. This was where he needed to be.

 

Blue One and Blue Three commed in the all-clear from the bottom of the site. The feed from the surveillance satellite likewise indicated that they were alone in the glasslands. The Chief nodded to Dr. Halsey and told her it was time to move out. They moved to the portable elevator system that enabled workers to travel to the bottom of the pit in the event of necessary maintenance. Linda had hacked the system, enabling its usage. Oddly, she had reported that there was no activity on the network that she could detect. Perhaps the Forerunner signals had finally pushed the poor AI past the breaking point.

 

The Master Chief found himself thinking of Cortana. It had been a while since his thoughts had turned to his AI companion. He had just been so busy. Once again, he found himself caught up in a memory...

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Sangheili grunted as the Master Chief silently broke its neck from behind. The pilot had been the last member of the Storm Covenant aboard the transport vessel that the Chief had stowed away on. It had taken entirely too much time to creep around the ship and eliminate its crew without alerting the rest of the Didact's newly formed fleet to his presence.

 

“Cortana?” he asked.

 

“Still here.”

 

The Master Chief nodded, knowing she could detect the motion through his armor's internal sensors. He moved toward the command console, removing a cable from his gauntlet and plugging the human-covenant adapter into the alien technology. Cortana took control of the ship and opened a comm line to the human space station that the Storm fleet was currently moving to assault.

 

The Master Chief was put in contact with the station's leader, a Dr. Tillson. He informed her that the Didact was after a piece of Forerunner technology, a weapon, that the scientists had discovered and transported there. He advised her to defend the weapon however possible and prepare to evacuate the civilian work force.

 

Suddenly, Cortana's hologram popped up on the console and cut him off from the station. Her eyes were a uniform blue, the same color as her 'skin'. Her words were garbled. It sounded as if there were multiple versions of her speaking at once and slightly out of sinc.

 

“ _ **Do you know what that condescending bitch said to me after our first game of chess?!”**_

 

The Chief was dumbfounded. What was going on?

 

“Cortana...” he replied uncertainly.

 

“ _ **'I think I'm the only one who calls him by name anymore'.”**_

 

The console displayed red warning signs indicating that they were now slightly off course. If they did not fix the error, they would collide with the station just below the dock they were heading toward.

 

“Correct your approach,” he ordered.

 

“ _ **Yes, well, he also said he works better alone.”**_

 

The Chief saw the station getting closer in the view screen. Time was running out.

 

“ _ **I can see why you chose him, Catherine.”**_

 

“Cortana!” he shouted insistently.

 

“ _ **I'm your greatest achievement and you detest me!”**_

 

“Pull up! Now!”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Master Chief shook his head, returning to the present. The ship had indeed crashed. The Chief had been momentarily been knocked unconscious, but his armor had kept him in one piece. Not that it helped the station any. It had taken him precious minutes to force his way out of the wreckage and make his way to one of the station's airlocks. On the way, Cortana seemed to regain control of herself...to an extent.

 

“ _I'm sorry—I just...can't stop them. It's like a thousand of me arguing at once.”_

 

The Chief shook his head again, banishing her frantic and terrified voice. Just what would she be like when he found her? Would she be better? There was no real reason to believe she would be. Rampancy was permanent. There was a chance, though, that whatever Forerunner computer systems she had found herself in had repaired her. If not, Dr. Halsey might be able to work her magic on the AI. Once again he found himself pinning his hopes on the good doctor. There was a chance that he would have his friend back...

 

As Dr. Halsey set up her equipment, the Master Chief continued to scan the perimeter for any threats. He noticed what appeared to be some sort of rock formation located toward the interior of the pit itself. It was clearly not a piece of silicate, being of a more uniform gray than the variable black that Meridian's former topsoil was colored. He ordered Blue Three to investigate. They couldn't afford to take chances here. He activated the camera feed in Blue Three's helmet, enabling him to see whatever she saw. It was less secure and more noticeable than a simple comm message, but there was little danger of them being overheard out here.

 

As Blue Three approached the formation, the Chief suddenly recognized what it was. It was neither a freak survivor of the glassing nor something Forerunner in origin. It was a monument. Rather, a memorial. It could only have been for the tragedy of Meridian's destruction.

 

The memorial itself was faded. The silicate particles blown by the wind had long ago worn down whatever eulogy or stirring words had once adorned its surface. At first the Chief thought it was composed of several small pieces, but upon examination he realized that it was originally a single large piece that had broken apart. From what he could tell, the memorial had been uprooted and then carelessly tossed out of the way of the mining equipment. He marveled at the callous disrespect that the Liang-Dortmund Company showed to the tragedy of the glassing. Toward the billions of lives that had been lost.

 

John remembered watching the memorial service for the planet Reach. He had not been able to watch it live, having been stranded in deep space at the time, and the rest of Blue Team had been similarly occupied. They had obtained a recording of the event and had watched it together later on. Linda had set it up so that they could watch it on the interior of their MJOLNIR visors under the pretense of reviewing old battle footage. They knew that they were likely to be monitored when off-duty, and they wanted this to be a private moment. The Chief reflected that this should have been a tip-off that Linda had some rather unusual hobbies. At the time, he was too occupied trying to figure out how to feel about what he was watching.

 

The Reach memorial service had been a televised event, broadcast to all of the UEG. Reach had been the largest, most significant of all of the Inner Colonies and its glassing had been a major blow to national morale. Everyone was watching. There had been speeches by members of the UEG senate and ranking officers of the UNSC. Musical bands had played somber tunes venerating the fallen. Large monuments had been erected, their locations declared off-limits to all mining activity. Showing respect there had been a matter of national pride. Out here on Meridian, with no one watching, the UEG was content to allow companies to callously toss monuments aside and mine the hallowed ground with impunity. It seemed that while Inner Colonies received somber memorials, Outer Colonies got strip mines.

 

His musings were interrupted by a massive spike across the sensor range. The Forerunner signals were off the charts. Before he could even respond, however, what appeared to be a massive earthquake shook the ground.

 

The Master Chief rushed over to Dr. Halsey and conveyed her to the ground, shielding her body with his armored bulk. The ground split open, massive chasms appearing where there had been even terrain. The sides of the mining pit crumbled, equipment the size of office buildings crashing to the bottom in a deafening cacophony of noise. Pieces of the ground surged upward, forming new plateaus and cliffs. What was once an open pit was turned into a maze of jagged cliffs, walls, and various debris. The devastation kicked up a cloud of fine silicates that made his armor flare with their impact. It probably only lasted a minute, but the devastation was so intense that it seemed to last a lifetime.

 

When the dust settled, the Master Chief checked on the doctor. “Are you alright, ma'am?” he asked, checking the signals from her hard-suit's bio monitors and thanking their foresight in bringing the device from the derelict ONI station.

 

“Yes, yes, I'm fine,” she said, moving to get out from under him. As much as she tried to seem in control, her voice was shaking as much as her body had been. He would have to give her a moment to collect herself.

 

“Blue Team, check in,” he ordered over the comms.

 

To his relief, his squad had weathered the event as well as he had. Linda's perch was one of the lucky machines that managed not to fall into the pit. Fred and Kelly were likewise fortunate in avoiding debris. The Chief ordered the pair to make their way to a relatively open and even patch of ground that he marked on the HUD projected onto the interior of their visors. It took several minutes to maneuver around the maze that had once been a mining pit. The Chief and Halsey rendezvoused with them there.

 

“Well, that was intense,” Fred quipped.

 

Another tremor shook the ground. The Chief was about to shield his mother again when he noticed that, rather than a quake, the vibrations were coming from a single location about a hundred meters away. The ground split open and what appeared to be the entrance to a bunker materialized in the gap. The Chief realized that it had to be composed of hard-light. They had found the Forerunner ruins.

 

Before he could order Blue Team to investigate, a strange blue glow seemed to appear over the ground in front of the entrance. The Spartans immediately took up a defensive posture, ready for anything. A mist seemed to rise up from the ground accompanied by a cloud of disturbed silicate particles. The glow suddenly flashed, momentarily overloading his helmet's sensors. When they refocused, he saw a group of what appeared to be strange, armored figures standing in formation.

 

The figures opened fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the dominoes start to fall...
> 
> Note: The flashback is from Halo 4, specifically the level 'The Composer'. I changed the line Cortana seems to suggest is a quote from Halsey because I don't think it fits her character.
> 
> Note: One of my goals in this fic is to show off some of the consequences of war that most people don't seem to pay attention to. One of the things it's important to remember about former warzones like those in the Middle East is that a lot of the basic infrastructure and industries that we take for granted get demolished in the process. Battles don't take place in a desert 45 miles away from anything civilian. They take place in cities, farms, and other places where people should be working and living. There is no such thing as a 'clean' war.
> 
> Note: I hope I'm not demonizing the Inner Colonies too much. I tried to have Vale describe some ways that the Inner Colonists are still human, such as suggesting ONI keeps them in the dark and pointing out that life is tough everywhere. Like she says, though, the Outer Colonies suffer more. I agree with Tanaka: it's only ever the people who can't afford to fight back who have to pay the price. Just look at the rich CEOs and politicians in real life who talk about cutting social security before they go to their private jets to take vacations in the Caribbean.
> 
> Note: And the Forerunner Soldiers finally arrive. They're going to be very different, in design and behavior, than the enemies encountered in the game. Personally, I always thought it was incredibly stupid to have Forerunner enemies. I mean, these guys were basically space wizards who could literally manufacture planets, and yet a puny human is able to curb stomp their elite warriors? I know that the sentinels in the original trilogy were pretty wimpy, but I just figured that was a side-effect of being around for 100,000 years. That, and I always figured that the sentinels were the Forerunner equivalent of pudgy security guards and the real war machines were either all dead or in cold storage somewhere. Needless to say, I'm going to be including my own explanation for their presence here.
> 
> Note: I tried to make Sloan as sympathetic a character as I could while showing very little of him. I wanted him to be a more distant figure that was nonetheless clearly responsible for a lot of good on the neglected world of Meridian. How did I do?
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

The central command console of the UNSC _Infinity_ chirped, notifying Captain Lasky of an Alpha priority message. Lasky opened the file in question and found the message that he had been anticipating and dreading in equal measure:

 

The frigate in orbit over Meridian had detected Forerunner activity beneath the surface. The Guardian was about to activate.

 

Lasky immediately sprung into action. “Lt. Sanders, get us to Meridian at top speed,” he ordered his astronavigator. “Lt. Krishnan, open a comm channel to everyone in the fleet,” he ordered his communications officer. The comm officer nodded, and Lasky was immediately granted his audience of every service member on the _Infinity_ and its accompanying fleet of frigates. He would be responsible for the lives of every one of these thousands of men and women in the battle to come. A battle against an enemy they had never faced before, with capabilities no one was familiar with, and using tech that was experimental at best and supplied by the Office of Naval Intelligence.

 

So, no pressure. Lasky suppressed a grimace.

 

“Attention all hands,” he began. “This is Captain Lasky. I have just received confirmation that the enemy we have been preparing to face, an alien construct designated 'Guardian-01', is about to make an appearance over the UEG colony world Meridian. We will travel to the colony at flank speed and arrive within 12 hours, at which point we will engage the enemy before it has a chance to escape. We are unclear as to the exact capabilities of this construct, so we must be prepared for anything. Be ready to adapt and change approach at a moments notice. This thing is a threat to the UEG, the UNSC, and everyone living in it.” Lasky paused for effect. “So let's go kick its ass. Captain Lasky, out.”

 

Lasky cut the connection and nodded to his pilot, confirming his order to jump to slipspace. The exterior camera feeds went blank, the system being unable to process the bizarre appearance of the ethereal alternate dimension. There were no windows on the bridge. It was located toward the center of the ship, making it impervious to anything other than a lethal blow. It was a design decision taken from Covenant vessels after hard, bloody lessons taught the UNSC the folly of locating their command centers more toward one end of the ship or the other. Necessary defense aside, part of Lasky wished he could see directly into space. Wished that he could see the enemy with his own eyes.

 

The holographic projector in the arm of his command chair activated, displaying a humanoid figure. It was a uniform yellow in color and resembled an early 20 th  century airman, complete with fur-lined suit and cap, as well as aviator goggles pushed up onto his forehead. It was the _Infinity's_ artificial intelligence. Roland.

 

“Is the EW package ready, Roland?” Captain Lasky asked. The AI was not directly in charge of the Electronic Warfare suite. He was hooked into the ship's vital systems, necessitating separation from any external sources other than the ship's own sensors. The EW system that would be their primary means of attack against the Guardian was being handled by ONI, specifically the AI they had brought with them. Despite his lack of control, Lasky knew that Roland would be well aware of their status. Ship AIs tended to consider their vessels to be _their_ vessels, which made sense considering the ships were effectively their bodies. As such, they were typically resentful of anything going on within them that they didn't have a say over. Lasky knew that asking Roland would at least ease the unhappiness the AI felt at ONI's interference.

 

That, and it meant that Lasky didn't have to directly interact with Maj. Ackerson again.

 

“Our 'secret weapon' should be ready to fire on command,” Roland replied. “We will also, of course, be fully prepared for any unforeseen occurrences,” he added. Lasky smiled. He knew that Roland was as skeptical of ONI's supposed ability to hack the Forerunner weapon as he himself was. He nodded at the AI, who promptly vanished.

 

Captain Lasky glanced at the small series of digits on the top left of his command console that indicated the amount of time until they arrived at Meridian. Just under 12 hours.

 

 _I hope we're not too late,_ Lasky thought.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The figures that had appeared before Blue Team were among the most bizarre the Master Chief had ever encountered.

 

They were clearly based on human soldiers, at least visually. They were humanoid, with two arms and two legs, and were a bit under 2 meters in height. Their bodies were covered in bulky armor plates protecting their chests, heads, and limbs. Their helmets covered their scalps and included a face guard and transparent, presumably bullet resistant, material covering the area over their eyes. They carried weapons that roughly resembled assault rifles, complete with stocks and pistol grips, which fired some kind of projectile.

 

As similar as they were, there were a number of substantial differences.

 

For one thing, their armor was a uniform chrome color as opposed to the varied camouflage schemes the Marine Corps. utilized. The material beneath the armor was likewise different. Rather than the durable ballistic cloth laced with carbon nanotubes that marines wore, these figures seemed to be covered in some kind of black composite material. It was difficult to tell, as the material seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. Their weapons seemed to fire some kind of energy round that resembled tracer fire.

 

Most disturbing of all, however, were their eyes. Twin orbs of burning orange light shone from within their helmets, as if their eyes had been replaced with burning coals. The same orange light was visible at various other parts of their form, particularly the joints and seams of their armor.

 

They called out no orders or warnings to each other. There were no transmissions between them that the humans could detect. The closest the enemies came were some sort of strange rumbling and clicking sounds which could have been a type of language, but the translation software within the MJOLNIR armor couldn't make any sense of it.

 

Their movements were also odd. Their posture and the way they moved conveyed clear aggression and hostile intent, but there was something...off about them. Their movements were not as fluid as he would expect of a professional soldier, or even a properly functioning human body. Their steps were clumsy, and their adjustments to their aim were done with jerking motions that often brought them even further off target. It seemed like their bodies were being controlled by people that had observed humans fight, but hadn't really mastered control over their bodies. Everything about them was just slightly alien...uncanny.

 

All in all, they resembled a child's nightmare version of a UNSC Marine.

 

They were also attempting to kill Blue Team.

 

The Master Chief scowled as enemy fire blew away more of his cover. Their rounds were powerful, stronger than any human or Covenant primary infantry weapon he had ever seen, and none of the silicate rubble that had been created by the quake was capable of standing up to more than a few seconds of sustained fire. He was forced to keep moving just to avoid being blown apart.

 

Once he had sprinted to the nearest available cover, he risked a glance over at Dr. Halsey's prone form. He had told her to stay down and not move, hoping that the attackers would ignore her in favor of targeting the Spartans. He simply couldn't stay with her behind crumbling cover and there was no way to escort her out of the ruined mining pit without being gunned down in the process. They needed to eliminate these hostiles—fast.

 

The Master Chief crouched and moved out from the side of his cover. He fired upon one of the enemy combatants with short, controlled bursts. He noticed that whenever his rounds hit the enemy's armor, a spiderweb of cracks appeared. Upon closer observation he realized those cracks were composed entirely of straight lines and right angles, as if the armor was breaking into a grid. He also noticed, with considerable frustration, that the cracks disappeared after several seconds. The armor was composed of hard-light!

 

One of the enemies managed to hit him. The Chief's energy shield failed after only 2 strikes. He pivoted back into cover as fast as his augmented reflexes would allow him. Even so, another shot grazed his shoulder, searing a centimeter-deep gouge in the titanium-ceramic armor plate. If he weren't augmented, that round might have punched clean into his torso.

 

The Chief pulled the pin on 1 of his 2 remaining grenades and tossed it around his rapidly diminishing cover. Upon hearing the blast, he climbed up on the silicate to fire from above. He saw that the blast had forced part of 1 enemy's armor open at the shoulder seam. The Master Chief feathered the trigger of his assault rifle, placing several 2-shot bursts into the glowing seam.

 

The enemy the Chief had targeted jerked to a halt, seeming to suffer several full body spasms before the black material beneath his armor exploded in a fiery blast. The armor pieces only survived a moment before blinking out of existence. The parts of the enemy that were composed of solid matter burned in place, bright bits floating off before fizzling out like sparks from a fire.

 

Unfortunately, the Master Chief didn't have time to analyze his kill before the weakened block he was clinging to collapsed under him. He rolled upon hitting the ground in front of his former cover and rushed to the nearest mound of silicates. One of the enemies turned to target him. He knew he would never make it in time.

 

Just before the enemy could fire on the Chief, it's visor exploded. Bright sparks and orange, crystalline shards flew out in place of blood and gray matter. The enemy combusted and vanished as the Chief's kill had. He completed his sprint to his newest shelter. His energy shield fizzled back to life.

 

“I've got you covered, Blue Lead,” Linda told him over the comms. Not for the first time, the Chief was grateful for Linda's exceptional aim.

 

“Blue Three, requesting assistance!” Kelly shouted over the comms. The Chief used his visor's Heads Up Display to locate his squadmate. She was currently crouched behind a small mound of silicates, being fired upon by a crowd of their new, bizarre enemies. There were no other bits of cover within easy reach. Fast as she was, she would be cut down if she tried to run.

 

“Blue Team, provide Blue Three with covering fire,” the Master Chief ordered.

They all fired on Kelly's attackers. The Chief's and Fred's shots did little damage, but Linda's aim was as good as ever and she managed to kill 2 more of the enemies.

 

Kelly rushed out, sprinting to the nearest cover. Unfortunately, the enemy's aim seemed to be improving. Just before she could reach the relative safety of a small outcropping of silicates, enemy fire downed her shield. A shot grazed her hip. The Chief could see steam coming off the molted trench made in the armor plating.

 

Another shot hit right where she was about to step, causing her to stumble to the ground. Her half-ton weight combined with her running speed of 75+kph made any stumble potentially devastating. She bounced and rolled at least a dozen meters, pulverizing several small silicate mounds, before coming to a stop. She desperately crawled behind cover, her shotgun abandoned in the killzone.

 

This wasn't good. They were running out of cover. They were also rapidly burning though the ammo they had scavenged from the ONI research station. They needed to eliminate the remaining enemy soldiers, fast.

 

The Master Chief took stock of the situation. Blue Team was spread out among what, moments ago, had been a maze of 2 meter high silicate formations. Now it was a mostly empty clearing. The enemy was split into roughly 2 groups, 1 being 12 strong and the other 3 strong. Strangely there seemed to be little coordination between the enemy units. Perhaps they were poorly disciplined. This could work to his advantage.

 

He looked around his environment, trying to find anything that could give them an edge. He glanced up, noticing the damaged breaker the inert crane was in the middle of lifting out of the mining pit. Suddenly, he had an idea.

 

“Blue Team,” he commed, “I'm going to try to lure them beneath that crane's load. Blue Two, shoot out the cable as soon as they're in position. Copy?” 3 acknowledgment lights winked on his HUD. Good.

 

The Master Chief threw his only remaining grenade at the smaller of the 2 groups. This had the double benefit of forcing them closer together...

 

And drawing their attention.

 

He dashed from cover to cover, sometimes sprinting, sometimes leaping and rolling to relative safety. He focused completely on running in the direction he needed to head in. He didn't think about his plan. Didn't think about stopping once he had passed the position. Didn't think about the Guardian. Certainly didn't think about glancing behind him to check they were still following.

 

The enemy fire shooting past all around him was proof enough that they were still on his heels.

 

In fact, he didn't _think_ at all. He allowed his instincts to kick in and carry him toward his destination.

 

A lucky shot managed to down his shield once more. He poured even more energy into his sprint, forcing his screaming muscles to go even faster. Any moment now they would get another lucky shot and end his life...

 

A thunderous crash sounded behind him. All enemy fire stopped. Once behind the next piece of cover, the Master Chief slid to a halt, kicking up a cloud of silicates and digging a trench a quarter-meter deep with his booted feet.

 

The damaged breaker had indeed fallen into the crater. Its impact kicked up a powerful wind full of razor sharp silicates that swept over the former mining pit. Any unshielded human would have been shredded. Nervously, he checked the biomoniter feed from Dr. Halsey's hard-suit. Aside from the expected accelerated heart and breath rate, there were no detected abnormalities or suit breaches. Good.

 

There was a deafening silence once the silicate cloud settled. The Spartans kept their weapons trained on the last known location of the enemy. They each kept watch on the motion trackers displayed on their visors. A half-minute passed with no movement. A full minute passed. Then 5.

 

The Master Chief ordered Blue One to investigate. He would have sent Blue Three, as she was faster, but he didn't want to risk her until they had assessed any damage from her tumble.

 

Several minutes passed as Fred scoured the debris for any sign that their enemy had survived. The Master Chief could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Normally, this combat wouldn't bother him. The previous day's events, combined with Dr. Halsey's presence, must have put him more on guard.

 

“Blue One, no sign of enemy contact, over,” Fred commed.

 

“Blue Team, sound off,” the Master Chief ordered.

 

“Blue One, all clear.”

 

“Blue Two, all clear.”

 

“Blue Three, all clear.”

 

“All clear confirmed,” the Chief stated. “Blue One and Blue Three, converge on the VIP's position. Blue Two, remain on overwatch.”

 

John, Fred, and Kelly converged on Dr. Halsey's location. The Chief helped the civilian up, the good doctor attempting to downplay how shaken she was. Upon seeing Kelly's armor, she immediately rushed over to give her daughter a thorough examination. Fortunately, there turned out to be no permanent or debilitating damage. The Chief was relieved.

 

Things had certainly gotten more complicated.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 _Found you,_ Locke thought triumphantly.

 

He was currently looking at a remote feed from the frigate in orbit, the UNSC _Emergence from Dusk_. The feed was of one of the many mining sites that the now-deceased Governor Sloan was responsible for operating. More importantly, it showed a small group of figures within the site dressed in MJOLNIR power armor.

 

“Head to the Pelican, Osiris!” he ordered his subordinates. “We've got a location on our targets!”

 

On the way to the dropship, Locke received an alert from the _Emergence from Dusk_. Pulling it up on the interior of his visor, Locke saw something that almost made him stumble in shock.

 

A swarm of what were unmistakably attack ships was rising from the surface of Meridian and moving to engage the frigate.

 

The attackers were unlike anything he had ever seen. They were roughly 10 meters long by 8 meters wide. They were composed of what appeared to be a pointed central fuselage with a disc-shaped device attached to either side. The discs glowed an unearthly blue color and left a trail in the vehicles' wake, suggesting that they were some kind of propulsion mechanism. Rather than the shades of purple that characterized Covenant craft, or the burgundy that the Arbiter's forces now favored, these vehicles were colored a uniform chrome. Their design aesthetic matched neither the organic, bulbous shapes of alien craft nor the utilitarian edges and hard angles of human ships. Rather, they seemed to be a mix of the 2, with the rectangular fuselage being composed of hard edges and the 2 discs being housed in a bulbous apparatus. More distressingly, there were several devices that resembled canons attached to the underside of the fuselage. They resembled an alien knockoff of the UNSC's Hornet VTOL gunship, only with the turbofans replaced by glowing discs.

 

There were hundreds of them. Already he could see the frigate's point defenses struggling to hold them off. Dozens of the alien craft were vaporized by the defensive lasers, but for every 1 that fell, 2 seemed to surge forward to take its place. Locke saw 10 small craft launch from the frigate's hangar. The captain had apparently ordered the wing of Broadsword fighter/bombers to engage the enemy. He saw one of their Friend or Foe tags ping KIA before shutting down the feed.

 

Locke swore to himself. Hostiles had engages UNSC forces. His only space-born backup was being attacked by an enemy with vastly superior numbers. Human soldiers were already dying. Shit was going down out here.

 

But he had a mission to complete.

 

ONI Command had made it clear that the apprehension of Blue Team was to take priority over all other concerns. This included the defense of UNSC forces or even civilians. Additionally, he had been ordered to do nothing to interfere with the activation of the Guardian buried beneath Meridian's surface. ONI wanted their exhibition match.

 

As the Pelican took off, the pilot plotting a course to the mining site, Locke nearly growled in frustration. Human forces were under attack. If the frigate was forced to retreat, it would only be a matter of time before the unknown hostiles turned their attention to the colony itself. Locke had little affection for the Meridians, but they were still human. They were still the people he was supposed to keep safe. This was supposed to be his job.

 

Unfortunately, orders were orders. Blue Team needed to be apprehended for the greater good. If some people died in the meantime, well...that was the little picture. As the Pelican roared away from Meridian Station, Locke tried not to think of the people he had met there. Of that kid...Aiko.

 

Locke was an agent of the Office of Naval Intelligence. He would not let sentimentality get in the way of doing his job. He would do what was necessary, like he always did.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Blue Two to Blue Lead, we have additional hostiles, over.”

 

The Master Chief bit back a groan. He had not truly expected that the small group they had destroyed composed the entirety of the enemy forces, but he had hoped that they had a bit more time before more showed up. He moved out of the bunker entrance that he and Dr. Halsey had stepped inside. The doctor was hard at work attempting to interface with the door to gain access to the complex itself.

 

“Copy, Blue Two. What are we looking at, over?” he commed.

 

“Blue Two, there's a large force of infantry, same type as before, accompanied by several land vehicles and what appears to be a gunship. I count at least 100 hostiles plus 20 vehicles, over,” Linda responded.

 

_Vehicles..._

 

Linda continued after a moment. What she said confirmed his worst fears.

 

“Blue Two to Blue Lead, they appear to be prepping to move out. Orientation of vehicles suggests their destination is Meridian Station. Please advise, over.”

 

There was no way Meridian Station would be able to fight off these enemies. Security had proven itself to be capable and disciplined during the riots, but these enemies were beyond them. Skilled as they were, few of the Security Officers had experience in actual warfare. Fred had reported that there was a surprising amount of military-grade weaponry in the station, but they were locked up under high security that would delay any response. Not to mention the fact that the enemy weaponry was so devastating and their armor so strong that the Spartans themselves had barely survived a single encounter. The station had numerous automated defenses, including anti-air and anti-infantry auto-turrets, but they were all under the control of Governor Sloan. If the inactive mining site was any indication, the Governor might not be available to authorize their activation. The colonists were outclassed and outgunned.

 

“Blue Team, ammo check,” he ordered over the comms.

 

“Blue One, I'm down to 2 magazines for my DMR and 3 for my pistol,” Fred reported.

 

“Blue Two, I've got 5 rounds left for my sniper and 3 mags for my pistol,” Linda reported.

 

“Blue Three, I'm down to 3 rounds for my shotgun and 3 magazines for my pistol,” Kelly reported.

 

The Master Chief himself was down to a half of a magazine for his assault rifle and 2 mags for his pistol. This wasn't good.

 

Looking over the battlefield, the Chief noticed one of the enemy assault rifle-analogues lying on the ground where its master had died. Moving over, he realized that not only did it have a stock and pistol grip, it had a human-like trigger as well.

 

 _It couldn't be,_ he thought.

 

The Chief moved toward one of the weapons. He placed a particularly heavy silicate boulder on the stock of the weapon. He looped a bit of micro-cable from his utility belt around the weapon's trigger and pulled experimentally. He didn't want to risk a booby trap taking off his arm. The weapon fired. Cautiously, he picked the weapon up and raised it to his shoulder. He pulled the trigger. The weapon fired, punching a neat hole in a thin outcropping of silicates.

 

The Master Chief was dumbfounded. Why would any force arm what were clearly combat drones with weaponry that an enemy could pick up and use against them? Why not just wire them directly into the drone's chassis? In fact, why make humanoid combat drones at all? Wouldn't flying drones be more practical? If they were worried about flying drones being too flimsy, armor typically having to be thinner to accommodate flight weight, why not place them on treads? Considering their armor was composed of weightless hard-light, even that explanation didn't hold up.

 

The utility of using the alien weapon was somewhat diminished by the uncertainty of how many shots remained in it. Upon thinking of ammunition, the Chief suddenly had the distinct impression that if he applied pressure to a small circle located on the side of the weapon, an ammunition port would open. He pushed the button. True to his instinct, a small piece of the weapon popped up, enabling something to be inserted. The Chief was suddenly reminded of the rack of small cylinders he had seen located just inside the bunker entrance. It seemed these weapons, like many pieces of Covenant equipment, was mildly psychic to cut down on training time. Again, he was baffled. Why would drones need training?

 

“Blue Team, police enemy weapons,” he ordered. Unfortunately, they were only able to locate one more of what they dubbed 'light rifles'. The rest had either been buried by the impact cloud or incinerated with their masters. He assigned 1 to Kelly and 1 to himself, they being the worst off in regard to ammunition. As much as this helped, 2 guns wouldn't turn the tide against an enemy force the size they were facing.

 

Strategically, the smart move would be to conceal themselves and hope the enemy left without noticing them. However, the Chief couldn't bring himself to leave the people of Meridian to their fate. They were human beings, citizens of the UEG, and it was his duty to protect them. Besides, he had grown rather fond of the people there...

 

So, they didn't have a chance in a stand-up fight. He doubted they would be able to pull a stunt similar to his trick with the crane, either. Perhaps they didn't need to be the ones to engage them. There were UNSC forces present on the world now, after all. The Chief sent a message to their stealth satellite in orbit. The satellite would relay the message concerning the new enemy to the frigate, which should then respond to the threat. The message would allow the UNSC to find the satellite, but that was a necessary sacrifice.

 

Responding to the message would take time, however, and the Chief didn't want to risk the enemies reaching Meridian Station before the UNSC could respond. Perhaps if they could just delay them...

 

“Blue Lead to VIP, over,” he commed.

 

“Yes, John, I read you,” Dr. Halsey responded. The Chief winced behind his visor. The doctor must truly be shaken to forget using codenames. He decided it wouldn't accomplish anything to berate her over it.

 

“I'm considering drawing the enemy's attention to buy time for Meridian Station. Is this an acceptable course of action, ma'am?” he asked. If Dr. Halsey was going to be his guiding light, he needed to seek her approval in this.

 

There was a delay in the doctor's response. “I believe that would be the moral thing to do, if that's what you're asking,” she replied hesitantly. The Chief took that as approval, attributing her odd tone to nerves.

 

“Do you think you could lock the door again after you open it?” he asked. If they drew the enemy's attention and then retreated into the complex, the enemy would spend precious time attempting to follow them.

 

“Possibly,” the doctor responded. “But I warn you that my ability to control these systems is limited. Additionally, it is entirely possible that those...entities are products of this very facility. Their control over the system could well be superior to my own.”

 

“I understand, doctor. Please do what you can. Blue Lead, out,” he said.

 

Once again, the Master Chief scanned his environment to find any possible advantage. He paused upon noticing one particular piece of equipment.

 

_I have an idea._

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Master Chief and Fred aimed their weapons at the enemy. They were covering Kelly, who was creeping closer to the enemy force. The Chief had hesitated to use her, considering what had happened in the last fight, but she had assured him that she was fully combat ready.

 

“ _Besides,”_ she had told him, _“I owe these guys some payback.”_

 

The Chief kept an eye on the enemy vehicles, keeping particular note of the gunship hovering over the area. If it was as deadly as the AV-14 Hornet it resembled, they would have to act fast to avoid being slaughtered.

 

Kelly reached her position. The enemy force was in the former pit, separated from the bunker entrance by a massive wall of silicates formed by the quake. Kelly had reached them through a narrow chasm through said wall.

 

“Blue Team, confirm readiness, over,” the Chief commed. 3 acknowledgment lights winked on his HUD.

 

“Execute,” he ordered.

 

Kelly jumped out of cover and threw a rocky silicate at the enemy, beaning one of them on the head. They turned to her. Kelly flipped them off, turned around, and sprinted toward the bunker entrance.

 

 _Wonder where she picked that up,_ he thought, firing through the chasm at the enemy. Predictably, the enemy returned fire and kept coming.

 

The enemy's aim was as erratic as ever. Some shots came perilously close to inflicting lethal blows, while others were wildly off target. The Spartans, by contrast, fired with precision and discipline. The light rifle rounds proved far more effective than his assault rifle. The Chief managed to down 3 enemies by the time he noticed the gunship orienting on Kelly's position.

 

His blood ran cold. A gunship was likely to have targeting algorithms and guided weaponry. Kelly didn't stand a chance.

 

_C'mon, c'mon..._

 

There was a bright flash from the rim of the pit. The gunship was struck by an invisible blow. It was sliced in two as if an enormous scalpel had been applied to it. Parts of it exploded in fire or blinked out of existence.

 

For the second time that day, the Master Chief thanked whatever gods there were for Linda's almost supernatural aim. Only she could have shot a moving aircraft out of the sky with a mining laser _._

 

The enemy infantry poured through the chasm. Only 20 or so managed to get through before the opening was clogged with enemy vehicles rushing to engage. The Chief marveled at their lack of discipline.

 

“Blue Two, target the chasm,” he ordered. An acknowledgment light winked on his HUD.

 

Suddenly, the top of the chasm broke off, sliced apart by the invisible laser. The vehicles and what few infantry were stuck with them were crushed by the falling debris.

 

“Blue Two, falling back to entrance, over,” Linda commed. She would rappel down the side of the cliff, her purpose above fulfilled.

 

The enemy infantry already on Blue Team's side of the wall continued to push forward. Either they hadn't noticed their comrades' fate or, more likely, they were incapable of caring. The Spartans fell back into the facility. Once under the cover of the entrance, the Chief used his neural implant to send a signal without taking his hands off of his weapon.

 

A blast sounded above them. An avalanche of debris crashed down upon the entrance, the demolition charges they had set in the side of the pit burying the entrance and crushing several of their enemies. Dr. Halsey closed and locked the door, hoping that it would provide an additional delay.

 

“Alright, Blue Team, move out,” the Master Chief ordered. “We've got no time to waste.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Okay, just what in the _hell_ were those things?” Spartan Buck asked.

 

He was referring to the bizarre infantry and land vehicles Osiris had just eliminated from the ruined mining pit. The enemy had fired some sort of energy weapon at their Pelican, but fortunately the dropship's rockets and chin gun had made short work of them. Fireteam Osiris was currently picking their way through the rubble at the bottom of the pit, making their way toward the entrance that the enemy had apparently been excavating.

 

“Unknown, Osiris 3,” Locke said, calling Buck by his call sign. “Focus on the mission. Let the boys in orbit worry about these new hostiles.” The Spartan IVs moved into the entrance, finding it securely locked. Locke applied the hacking programs in his suit, specifically the ones designed to interface with Forerunner systems. ONI Command had known he was likely to encounter such an obstacle.

 

Judging by the readings of explosive residue his armor had picked up, Locke surmised that the entrance was buried _after_ the quake had devastated the area. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was responsible. Locke estimated that Blue Team had maybe a 10 minute lead on them.

 

The door obediently opened. Locke ordered his subordinates to move into the complex. He glanced back out, looking up at the bright flashes of the battle taking place in orbit. Suddenly, his visor became completely opaque, the system automatically cutting off his vision to prevent him from being blinded by a flash. Locke immediately tried to comm the _Emergence from Dusk_...and received only a dead line.

 

The battle in orbit had been lost.

 

The memories of the Human-Covenant War came rushing back to him. This was just like so many of the battles that had taken place in that devastating conflict. Humanity had acquitted itself well on the ground, but in space they were simply unable to compete. And whoever owned space, owned the planet.

 

Locke banished those thoughts. Those days were over. The _Infinity_ was on its way. These enemies, whoever or whatever they were, would not last much longer. As he saw re-entry trails heading toward Meridian Station, he realized that that would be little comfort to the colonists.

 

Locke was tempted...sorely tempted...to recall the Pelican and rush towards the colony. He couldn't win this battle, but he could try to save who he could.

 

Locke banished those thoughts as well. He had his orders. And no one defied ONI...no one who wanted to go on living, that is. He moved into the complex after his team, grateful that none of them had seen what he had just witnessed. They were right on the cusp of completing their objective.

 

 _Almost showtime,_ Locke thought to himself, grimacing behind his polarized visor.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“It should only take a few minutes to interface with the Forerunner systems,” Dr. Halsey said.

 

They were all in a large room deep within the complex. They were currently standing on a raised platform on the opposite side of the door they had entered the room through. Sticking out of the wall was what was unmistakably a computer console beneath what he presumed was a large viewscreen. The entrance was also raised above the floor, and there were several other such platforms spread around the room.

 

The floor in question was filled with what looked for all the world like works of modern art. Bizarre, abstract shapes were combined in alien arrangements. Some were so thin the Chief struggled to focus on them. Some were so long they formed impromptu walls, each side of which were adorned with Forerunner hieroglyphs. The 3D images were so complex they threatened to give him a headache.

 

Some works appeared to be a form of statue; they were humanoid, although much taller than any human being. The Chief estimated they were roughly 2.5 meters in height. Were these depictions of the Forerunners? The Chief had always wondered if the only Forerunners he had seen, the Didact and the deceased Librarian, were representative of the rest of their kind. If the statues were of other Forerunners, they were not very illuminating, as the figures appeared to be covered in full body suits. From what he could tell, everything in the room, the floor, walls, and ceiling included, was composed of hard-light.

 

Basically, the place was a tactical nightmare. A dozen enemies could hide in the maze beneath them, popping up to take potshots at them before ducking back into cover. At least they had the high ground...

 

The only door into the room opened unexpectedly. Blue Team spread out along the control platform, taking cover behind the solid waist-high safety wall. At least this cover would likely last longer than the silicates.

 

A moment passed, with nothing entering the room. At least, nothing visible. The Chief saw a whisper blip on his motion tracker before vanishing. He had seen such readings during the War...

 

“Cloaked target, switch to thermal vision,” the Chief ordered. Back during the War, one of the weaknesses of Covenant stealth technology was that it tended to generate a lot of heat. Human stealth tech had reduced this weakness, but they hadn't been able to eliminate it completely. With their advanced scanners and augmented vision, the Spartan IIs should have no trouble spotting their assailant.

 

A trio of Spartan IVs walked into the room. They had their hands raised, weaponless.

 

“Keep an eye out for their cloaker,” the Chief ordered over their private comm channel. He received 3 acknowledgment lights.

 

“So...you're Blue Team, I presume?” the one in front, presumably the leader, said awkwardly. “Name's Locke. I'm the leader of Fireteam Osiris. We've been looking for you guys...”

 

“Order your stealth unit to reveal themself,” the Chief demanded, keeping his light rifle aimed at the leader. “Then we can talk.”

 

The so-called Locke shook his head. “Afraid I can't do that, Master Chief. You all need to stand down. Contrary to what the good doctor may have told you, she is not, I repeat _not,_ on a sanctioned mission. She's lead you down a path for her own purposes. The UNSC has a plan to deal with the Guardians. Her work will only interfere with that. Please...lower your weapons.”

 

The Master Chief examined Locke more closely. Apparently the fireteam leader was under the impression that Halsey had tricked them into going AWOL. As he examined the Spartan IV, he noticed a particular emblem emblazoned on the man's chest: a black circle within a pyramid, set against a plain background. The all-seeing eye of ONI.

 

John suppressed a growl. This man was the enemy.

 

“I hate to break this to you, _Agent_ Locke,” he said, deliberately replacing 'Spartan' with the title of an ONI operative, “but we already knew that.”

 

The body language of the Fireteam members indicated utter shock.

 

“Then why are you following her?” one of the other Spartans, the one in red, organic-looking armor, asked.

 

The Chief suppressed the anger that threatened to seep into his voice. Seeing the physical representation of the organization that had recently turned his world upside down was really making it difficult to stay in control.

 

“We're following her,” he answered, “because we trust her more than the people who give _you_ orders. Now tell your cloaker to step into the light!”

 

There was a pause. Neither side spoke. Neither side moved. The silence seemed to stretch into eternity...

 

A green blast flew out from below Blue Team and struck Linda. Her shield was instantly downed and her armor partially locked up. She cried out in pain. The moment's distraction was all Osiris needed. The Spartan IVs drew their weapons and took cover.

 

The battle was joined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And more dominoes fall...
> 
> Note: As I'm sure you noticed, the Forerunner Soldiers are very different, in appearance and behavior, than they are in the game. This is partially due to my opinion that having Forerunner enemies is silly, as I expressed in the last chapter's notes. Some reviewers have made admittedly good points about why they make sense. Eh...I'm still not convinced. No offense intended. That's just how I see it. Besides, I think having the enemies attacking Meridian resemble a nightmare version of their Inner Colony oppressors is great from a thematic standpoint.
> 
> Note: The light rifle only now being usable is a retcon of Halo 4, wherein all of the Forerunner weapons are usable. This bothered me for the reasons the Chief describes above. I understand gameplay and story segregation is not always a bad thing, but I figured since a text story doesn't have that problem I might as well have some fun with it here. 
> 
> Note: So, more action. I tried to make the Spartans badass but vulnerable. One of the most common problems I see in Halo fanfic is that the author makes the Spartans invincible. It's hard to get invested in a battle if the enemies can't even touch the heroes. Feedback?
> 
>  Note: I swear I can feel some of you shouting in outrage at this cliffhanger ending. It makes me smile...No, I'm not not a sadist. Honest :P Seriously, though, I'll try to get the next chapter out soon and make it satisfying.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

 

Jameson Locke sat down on the sidewalk and put his back to the cold, concrete building. Today was the day. Just a few minutes until the UNSC recruitment office opened.

 

A cold wind blew through the busy street. Locke pulled his cheap, tattered coat tighter around his chest. He looked forward to the undamaged marine gear he would soon be issued. He looked across the street at the line of people waiting for bread. The church wouldn't open for another hour. Even then, they wouldn't have enough food to give everyone on the line. They never did. A lot of the people toward the rear would be going home hungry.

 

_So much for the prosperity of the Inner Colonies,_ Locke thought. He had lived on the Outer Colony of Jericho VII until he was 6. It felt like a lifetime ago. He could remember his family talking about how much better the Inner Colonies had it, how the Outer worlds were always getting the short end of the stick. Given some of the history books he'd encountered, that may have been true.

 

The War had changed that. Supplies were dwindling across human space as the Covenant burned planet after planet. Refugees like Locke were piling up everywhere. Locke thought of the crowded foster home he would be leaving behind. Over 20 war orphans were being taken care of by a couple of clowns that used all of the government child support money to line their own pockets, then fed the kids whatever moldy crap they bought for cheap off of the local bakery. No, he would not be missing his newest 'home'.

 

A large, unmarked truck rumbled past. Locke wondered if it was a bread truck. Vehicles transporting food had long ago learned not to advertise the precious cargo they were hauling. Locke himself had stolen from food trucks numerous times. One shop had even started just giving him and his fellow thieves a basket of free bread a week just to avoid the hassle of replacing broken locks.

 

“Can I help you, young man?” a voice asked.

 

Jameson Locke looked up, squinting to see the UNSC Marine Corps. recruiter past the glare of the sun. Locke put on his best smile. This was his only option. With unemployment pushing 50% he would likely starve if this didn't go as planned...

 

“I'm 18 today, sir,” he lied. Locke was actually only 16. Given how badly the war had been going, he figured the UNSC wouldn't look too closely at a fit, able bodied young man who wanted to volunteer.

 

He was correct.

 

“Well then,” the recruiter smiled, offering Locke a hand up. “Happy birthday.”

 

Locke smiled and took the offered hand. He was going to be a soldier. A marine. Maybe one day he would even meet his hero again. The man that had saved his life so many years ago. The man that Locke wanted so badly to be like.

 

The Master Chief.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Locke aimed his Battle Rifle at the Master Chief's head and fired a 3-round burst. The Chief ducked behind cover to allow his energy shield to regenerate.

The rest of Blue Team was likewise crouching behind cover. One of the other Spartans, the one covered in plates, was firing a Squad Automatic Weapon at them, keeping the Spartan IIs pinned. Every time one of them attempted to get out of cover either the SAW gunner or Locke would fire on them.

 

“Blue Three, get ready to sprint to a flanking position,” the Chief said, gesturing to a small bridge that connected the command platform to another raised position half-way around the room. “Blue Two, you and I will provide covering fire. Blue One, keep looking for the cloaker. They've got a plasma pistol, so watch for the charged shot. Everyone wait for your shields to regenerate to 100%. Copy?” 3 acknowledgment lights winked on his HUD. Moments later, his squadmates reported readiness.

 

“Execute,” the Master Chief ordered. He and Linda rose out of cover as one to fire on Osiris while Kelly sprinted to her new position and Fred scanned for the stealth unit.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Kelly had almost made it across the bridge when she noticed a blip on her motion tracker. Glancing to her left as she stepped onto the platform, she saw the red-colored Spartan IV flying through the air on thrusters.

 

The Osiris team member shoulder checked her. Kelly's shields dropped instantly. She then flew sideways and slammed into the wall. Her shotgun was knocked into the maze below.

 

The Spartan II bit back a groan. Her tumble earlier had left her more sore than she was willing to admit. That blow had _hurt._

 

That didn't stop her from recovering almost instantly, of course. Before her enemy could land another blow Kelly had rolled out of the way and onto her feet.

 

The Spartan IV moved to strike. Kelly thought she was prepared, but her adversary used a thruster burst to jet forward and land a strike that almost caused her to lose her balance. As Blue Three recovered, she noticed a small device in the red soldier's left hand.

 

Kelly's blood ran could as she recognized it. A neural inhibitor. If that thing was successfully attached to the back of her helmet, she would be temporarily paralyzed. Helpless. It had happened once before in a conflict with some Insurrectionists. This time, though, Kurt-051 would not be there to save them all.

 

Kelly buried her fear. She couldn't afford the distraction.

 

The Spartan IV attempted to grapple Kelly. She was clearly trying to maneuver into a position where the inhibitor could be attached.

 

Kelly had no intention of letting her. She was, by far, the fastest Spartan II. This applied not only to running speed but to reflexes. Thus, every blow her enemy attempted to land was easily dodged.

 

Minus the ones accompanied by a thruster burst. For several frustrating seconds, the thruster technology gave her enemy the edge needed to stay ahead of Kelly's blows and counters. Every time she came close, the Spartan IV would boost out of the way. This fighter had clearly practiced extensively with this relatively new technology.

 

It did, however, have a weakness. Every time the Osiris member used it, there was a brief delay before she could get her bearings. Before she was ready to strike or dodge.

 

This delay was only a fraction of a second. Many regular fighters wouldn't even be able to detect it.

 

For Kelly, it was like hitting the broad side of a starship with a shotgun blast.

 

The Osiris member used her thruster to attempt to grab Kelly's arm. Kelly dodged out of the way, careful to not move too far.

 

_There._

 

Kelly grabbed the Spartan IV's arm just as it went past. The energy shield made it difficult to grasp. It was like trying to hold a limb covered in grease.

 

However, it was all Kelly needed to hold her enemy still for another fraction of a second. Kelly shoulder checked her enemy, repaying the opening blow of their battle, and the Spartan IV flew into the wall. Her shield dropped as surely as Kelly's had.

 

Kelly moved in for the finishing blow. She would attempt to use non-lethal force, but she could not afford to be captured. Her family was counting on her.

 

The Spartan IV had managed to stay on her feet. As Kelly moved in, the red-colored enemy fired all of her downward facing thrusters in an attempt to fly clear over her head.

 

Kelly activated Spartan Time. She grabbed her adversary by the ankle as she flew overhead and used the Spartan IV's momentum to swing her downward into the floor.

 

The hard-light surface cracked into a maze of grid lines upon impact.

 

The younger supersoldier was clearly stunned. Kelly could faintly see red warning lights flashing on the interior of her enemy's visor.

 

Before she could land the finishing strike, Kelly's opponent used her thrusters to blast off of the side of the platform. She disappeared into the maze below.

 

Glancing back from where her enemy had vanished, Kelly noticed she had dropped a grenade on the way out. Kelly turned and started to sprint, but it was too late. The blast dropped her shields again and blew her off of the platform. She rolled upon landing and drew her sidearm.

 

While Kelly could simply jump the 3 meters back up to the platform, she didn't want to remain exposed for the trip up. The other members of Fireteam Osiris would doubtless take the opportunity to shoot her. She sighed and moved toward a ramp, keeping an eye on her motion tracker.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_Where the hell are you?_ Fred asked silently. He had snaked a fiber-optic cable over the edge of the railing to see into the maze below. The image took up the top right corner of his visor. He was also keeping an eye on the rest of the platform. So far, there was no sign of the enemy stealth unit.

 

Linda was standing next to him, firing her last remaining sniper shots at the SAW gunner. The automatic weapons fire was impacting Linda's shield directly in front of her helmet. The enemy was probably counting on Linda ducking down, or at least being blinded by the flash as the rounds impacted the energy shield.

 

The advanced optics in Linda's helmet rendered the obstructing flashes meaningless. The sniper fired calmly and methodically as her shield fell toward single digit percentages. 1 shot. The enemy's shield flared. 2 shots. The enemy's shield flared brighter. The SAW rounds became less accurate. 3 shots. The enemy's shield dropped completely.

 

Just as Linda fired her final round, a barrier of hard-light appeared in front of the gunner. The sniper round bounced off.

 

Fred cursed mentally. This particular enemy had invested heavily in defensive measures. Linda ducked behind cover and drew her sidearm.

 

Another green blast came from behind them. It struck Linda, once again downing her shield and partially locking her armor.

 

Fred snapped his rifle up, aiming toward the back of the control platform. The cloaker must have snuck up somehow. He cursed himself for getting distracted. It took a moment for Fred to locate his prey with his thermal vision.

 

_There!_

 

Fred unloaded on the cloaked figure with his DMR. The figure attempted to dodge, but Fred was far too good a shot. Not one of his rounds missed. Fred could see flashes as his shots impacted an energy shield. The stealth unit's cloak failed abruptly. Fred was momentarily perplexed, as it seemed he was fighting a Spartan dressed up as an ODST.

 

The pseudo-ODST threw a grenade. Fred surged forward and kicked the grenade away. It exploded in the air half-way across the room.

 

Unfortunately, that distraction had bought his enemy enough time to charge another shot in his plasma pistol. He shot Fred. The marksman's shield failed and his armor locked up. The Osiris team member rushed past him to get to Linda.

 

The sniper had not yet fully recovered from the blast. Her recent surgery had left her less resilient than the rest of Blue Team.

 

It did not, however, render her helpless. As the enemy rushed towards her with some kind of device in his hand—a neural inhibitor, Fred realized with a bit of distress—Linda pushed forward and shoved him away with her rifle. The enemy's shield dropped. Linda moved forward, striking the soldier's wrist with the stock of her weapon. The inhibitor flew out of his left hand.

 

The Spartan IV instinctively grabbed a combat knife out of an ODST-style shoulder sheath and swung at her. The blow hit Linda's rifle. Nornfang. The sniper rifle that had carried her through decades of war. Her prized possession.

 

The enemy's blow sliced into the barrel and bent it into a curved shape. The weapon was now useless. Linda cried out as if her arm had been cut off.

 

The pseudo-ODST wrenched the rifle away and delivered a kick to Linda's chest. The sniper flew backwards, hit the railing, and tumbled over into the maze below.

 

Fred roared in anger. He drew his energy blade. His DMR was out of rounds. He wanted to do this personally, anyway.

 

The Fireteam Osiris member seemed to pause as he heard Fred's roar. Good. It gave the Spartan II time to close the distance.

 

To Fred's surprise, his enemy acquitted himself rather well. The Spartan IV dodged with an effortlessness that indicated years of practice and field usage. His strikes occurred in the blink of an eye. He deflected several of Fred's strikes, his arm impacting Fred's forearm and making the blow sail past him. The Spartan IV even tossed his blade from hand to hand a few times to attack from an unexpected direction. Advanced moves that took decades to master were used casually, almost effortlessly. Perhaps this man really had been an ODST before becoming a Spartan.

 

But Fred was better. He, too, had decades of practice and experience to draw on. His sparring partners were the greatest fighters humanity had ever produced. His instructors were among the most brilliant martial minds in all of the UEG. He also had superior augmentations.

 

Fred landed several blows on his enemy. There were numerous slash marks across the chest and limbs. It would only be a matter of time before Fred managed to bypass his enemy's guard and stab into one of the weakpoints in his armor.

 

Fred dodged low, ducking beneath one of his enemy's swipes. Moving toward the right, he grabbed on of the Spartan IVs legs and flipped him onto his back. Fred moved in for the kill.

 

Before he could land the blow, the SAW gunner popped up again. Apparently her shield had recharged. The automatic weapons fire rapidly drained Fred's shield, forcing him to duck into cover. The hard-light railing proved as impenetrable as ever.

 

Looking back, he saw that his enemy had disappeared. He must have engaged his cloak. Fred scanned the platform thoroughly. There was no sign of him.

 

There was also no sign of his teammates. Kelly had moved to flank and he had seen Linda go down. Where was the Master Chief?

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Master Chief had moved to the far edge of the control platform. He could see Dr. Halsey crouching behind the solid railing a short distance away. He motioned for her to remain in cover.

 

Hopefully his new position would allow him to get the drop on the SAW gunner. He stood up and aimed his light-rifle at the enemy position. Linda's sniper shots had downed the gunner's shield, but a barrier of hard-light had popped up to block additional shots. Fortunately, the barrier only covered the front of the gunner. The Chief had a clear shot.

 

Suddenly, it occurred to the Master Chief that the leader of Osiris, Locke, had vanished. Before he could even wonder where he'd gone, the leader leaped up from directly below the command platform, grabbed the Chief, and dragged him down into the maze below.

 

The Chief rolled with the fall. He snapped back up and aimed his weapon at the enemy leader...only to discover that he had vanished. He checked his motion tracker. Nothing.

 

Perhaps Locke's armor was designed to counter the Spartan II's sensors. The Chief scanned the area around him. The ceiling lights cast long, deep shadows amongst the many obstructions. He kept his eyes and ears open. Only the sounds of battle above greeted him.

 

A sticky grenade flew out of the maze to the Chief's left and adhered to his light-rifle. The human answer to the Covenant plasma grenade could not be dislodged in time. The Chief tossed the weapon away.

 

The grenade detonated. The light-rifle also exploded, parts alternately burning up or blinking into nothing. The Chief's shields dropped.

 

A blip appeared on the Spartan IIs motion tracker. Behind him. The Chief pivoted out of the way as fast as his reflexes would allow him. Locke narrowly missed getting the Spartan II into a grapple.

 

Surprisingly, the Spartan IV moved in to grapple again. It was common knowledge amongst Spartans that the IVs were physically weaker than the IIs. Regardless of the reasons for Locke's foolishness, the Chief wasn't in the habit of passing up advantages. He moved to meet Locke in a contest of strength.

 

At first the Chief was winning as expected. Then Locke pushed forward with a strength he had no business having. His MJOLNIR armor must have been designed to increase strength even more than the standard issue models. Lock picked the Chief up and hurled him against the wall. The Chief could feel his shield break. The wind was knocked out of his lungs.

 

Before he could get up, Locke moved in and kicked the Chief's helmet. The visor cracked. The Chief's head whipped back, the armor barely keeping his neck from breaking. The Chief found himself on his back. Locke moved forward and stomped on the Chief's chest plate. Once. Twice. Three times. John-117 could feel the armor dent. Red warning lights flared on his damaged visor.

 

The Chief saw Locke draw a neural inhibitor from his belt and move to shove the Chief over with his boot. The Spartan II grabbed his foot. He grabbed his enemy's leg with his other hand and used his own strength to lever the Spartan IV into the wall. The Chief rolled to his feet. He struck Locke on the way up. The Spartan IVs shield dropped.

 

The Fireteam Osiris leader attempted to grapple with the Master Chief again. Having learned his lesson, the Chief dodged his grab and tripped him. Locke crashed to the ground. Not willing to give his opponent a moment to recover, the Chief delivered a strong kick to his midsection.

 

Locke's armor dented. He flew at least 3 meters before impacting one of the bizarre works of art that littered the floor. The artwork instantly developed a grid of cracks over one entire side of it. Locke picked himself up and shook his head, clearing it.

 

The Master Chief and Locke raised their hands into guard positions. They circled each other, looking for any opening. This was it. The Chief would show the ONI agent, this parody of a Spartan, exactly what it meant to be a defender of humanity.

 

Before he could make good on his silent promise, a familiar blue glow fell upon the room.

 

_Oh, no,_ the Chief thought. _Not now._

 

Suddenly, all of the works of art vanished. The Spartans below found themselves on a completely empty floor. Without obstructions, the ceiling lights were able to fully illuminate the area. The Chief could see Locke, as well as the red Spartan and Kelly and Linda.

 

Towards the front of the room, just below the command platform, the blue glow surged into a blinding flash. The Spartans' helmets instantly polarized to protect their vision. That had been far brighter than the flash the bizarre infantry had made upon their arrival.

 

The Master Chief remembered thinking that the figures he had fought on the surface were among the strangest he had ever seen. The lone figure that appeared before him trumped even their insanity.

 

It was easily 3 meters in height. It was humanoid, like the others, and followed the same chrome, black, and glowing orange color scheme.

 

It was there that the similarities ended.

 

The being was covered in what looked like a science fiction version of ancient plate armor. It had a cuirass to protect its chest, pauldrons on its shoulders, rectangular bands of chrome metal protecting the thighs like medieval faulds, boots, and gauntlets. It wore a helmet that looked for all the world like a 'Great Helm' of the medieval crusader period; it was cone shaped, with numerous holes approximately where the mouth would be and two narrow slits over the eyes. Both the holes and the slits glowed with an internal orange light.

 

“ **I am the Warden Eternal** ,” it said in what sounded like an approximation of a cultured British accent. “ **I stand in service to the Lady Cortana.** ”

 

The Master Chief was, once again, dumbfounded. This...thing, served Cortana?

 

“ **It is my sworn duty to preserve her from brigands, heathens, and barbarians like you all. You shall leave this place at once. Else you shall taste my steel!** ” Here the so-called Warden brandished what looked like an enormous longsword. It was at least 150 cm long, possessed a crossguard, and glowed bright orange along the blade's edge.

 

The members of Blue Team and Fireteam Osiris stared at him.

 

They then turned, glancing at each other. Receiving no indication that they were hallucinating, they returned their gaze to the Warden.

 

The members of Blue Team and Fireteam Osiris resumed staring at him.

 

No one said a word. Some of them looked like they would pinch themselves if they weren't wearing armor.

 

The Warden Eternal seemed to grow angry. “ **You will vacate this sanctuary!** ” he shouted. He then put both hands on the hilt of his weapon, aimed it toward the ground, and thrust the point downward. The sword pierced the hard-light floor.

 

It then emitted a shockwave that both downed all of the Spartans' shields and blew several of them off of their feet.

 

Suddenly, the 2 teams forgot their previous grievances. Every one of them currently holding a ranged weapon opened fire on the Warden Eternal. They barely left a mark. The Chief's pistol shots created some grid marks, but they were so faint he could barely make them out. The SAW gunner seemed to be having more luck, but only through sheer volume of fire.

 

The Warden drew his sword from the ground and aimed it at the SAW gunner. A bright yellow light traveled the surface of the blade and gathered into a ball at the tip. The gunner immediately summoned her hard-light barrier. The ball of light flew from the sword's point, impacted the barrier...and exploded.

 

There was a blindingly bright flash. The Chief could faintly see the gunner's barrier and shield failing. She was flung backward into the wall. The Chief would swear he could hear the armor cracking from across the room.

 

“Hey, asshole!”

 

The Master Chief looked to command platform. He saw Fred standing bolt upright...raising his energy blade in challenge. It was extended to its full length of 100cm.

 

Whatever Blue One was trying to do, he certainly had the Warden's full attention. The wannabe knight completely ignored the Spartans firing at him and walked toward Fred. The Spartan II jumped down from the platform and moved toward his enemy.

 

_What is he trying to do?_

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_What the hell am I doing?_ Fred asked himself.

 

He walked slowly toward the Warden Eternal. The Warden walked slowly to him. They stopped approximately 3 meters from each other.

 

The Warden raised his sword into what Fred recognized as a high guard. If he had to guess from the sword's design and relative size, he assumed the Warden would be using a European fighting style. This meant strong, powerful blows with little in the way of subtlety or finesse. There would be no glancing hits. Any strike would be devastating. Strong as he was, Fred didn't want to chance a contest of strength with...whatever this thing was. He would need to rely on his speed and reflexes if he was going to survive. Blocking was out of the question.

 

Fred raised his blade into a low guard. The Warden snorted in contempt. Evidently, he was a purist. The two swordsmen launched themselves at each other. The weapons fire stopped as the two engaged in their duel.

 

Fred had guessed his opponent's style correctly. The Warden performed broad, powerful swings. The air seemed to sing in the wake of his blade. Fred knew that if any of these blows connected, he would be cut in two without the blade even slowing down.

 

Fred, by contrast, relied upon speed and finesse. He used Spartan Time to detect and dodge the Warden's blows. Occasionally he would have to deflect a strike. These actions resulted in his arm nearly being wrenched out of its socket. No, blocking was definitely out.

 

The duel seemed to last for hours. Sometimes the Warden would overextend himself on a swing, leaving him open to attack. Fred would dart forward, stabbing the point of his blade into a seam in his enemy's armor. He knew that striking the armor plates themselves would be futile. The black material beneath was tough, but his energy blade could cut through solid titanium. It pierced the black barrier with little difficulty. Unfortunately, Fred was unable to penetrate very far, as the Warden would immediately move out of the way, forcing the blade out. Fred knew he was doing damage; every time he landed a blow the Warden grunted in pain. However, unless he found a way to do debilitating damage, it probably wouldn't matter how many times he pierced this thing. It wasn't going to bleed to death, after all.

 

And Fred was getting winded.

 

The Warden fought with an aggression that seemed inappropriate given his cultured voice. He grunted and roared as he attempted to cleave his enemy in two. He swung wide, diagonal strikes that dug deep gouges in the hard-light floor. These marks took quite a while to regenerate. Fortunately, none of the blows managed to land. Unfortunately, the Warden's aggression resulted in Fred being backed into a wall. Without room to maneuver, he was as good as dead. The Warden moved to skewer Fred. The Spartan II nimbly dodged out of the way, moving to rush past his enemy and into open ground.

 

Fred's opponent suddenly checked his movement and swung to the side. The only thing that saved Fred's life was that the Warden either forgot or didn't have time to twist his blade so that the edge was leading.

 

The flat of the blade struck Fred center of mass. He went flying at least 10 meters through the air before crashing into the wall. He fell to the floor. His shields were dead. Fred could see red lights blinking on his visor. He could hear alarms blaring in his ears. He could taste blood. He watched, unable to move, as his foe advanced on his limp form.

 

Weapons fire bounced harmlessly off the Warden Eternal's armor as he raised his sword above his head. Fred braced himself for the killing stroke.

 

The Warden Eternal cried out in pain. He took one hand off of his sword and pressed it to the side of his head. He became unsteady on his feet, swaying to the right before steadying himself. He whirled around, looking directly at the control platform.

 

Fred could see Dr. Halsey furiously working on the control console. Once again, she had come through for them.

 

The Warden roared in outrage before charging toward the platform. Before he was half-way there he stumbled, falling to one knee. His body started to vibrate erratically. The pieces of his left arm flew apart, the armor seeming to levitate off of the black material beneath. The black material itself then split apart and shrunk, turning into tatters wrapped around a core of glowing orange crystal.

 

The rest of the Spartans focused fire on the crystal core. The crystal fractured. Abruptly, the Warden's arm exploded in a fiery blast. The entity screamed in agony. Within moments, the Wardens chest began to increase in vibration. The armor began to levitate off. Fred began to hope.

 

That hope was soon dashed. The Warden stood up and seemed to force his body back into his control through sheer force of will.

 

“ **Enough!** ” he shouted. The Warden then used his remaining arm to thrust his sword back into the ground. Unlike before, there was no shockwave. Instead, the Warden vanished in a flash of blue light...along with a substantial portion of the floor. There was nothing but a black abyss beneath the perfectly square hole.

 

The rest of the floor, as well as the walls and ceiling, began to disappear square by square.

 

“Fireteam Osiris! Regroup!” the enemy leader shouted. The Spartan IVs that were on the ground used thrusters to join the SAW gunner near the door. They picked up their comrade and carried her out of the rapidly disappearing room. The rest of Blue Team rushed over to Fred, running around the widening hole in the floor.

 

“Blue Two and Blue Three, carry Blue One to the entrance,” the Master Chief ordered. “I'll get the Doct— ”

 

All that was left of the room disappeared. The Spartans fell into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a doozy to write. Probably the most fun I've had so far, though.
> 
> Note: The story about a shop leaving bread out to get kids to stop stealing from them is based on a true story of my grandfather during the Great Depression in the 1930s. Just giving a shout out to a great man. Rest in Peace, grandad.
> 
> Note: Part of the reason for that intro bit, aside from pacing, was to show that Locke wasn't lying when he said life in a lot of the Inner Colonies sucked. It would have varied, and the Outer Colonies generally bore the worst of it, but something as devastating as the Human-Covenant War would have impacted everyone.
> 
> Note: I've heard that one of the more disappointing parts of Halo 5 is the fact that the Locke vs. Chief fight happens in a brief cutscene. I didn't find it disappointing because by that point I had realized the story sucked and 343i had lied to us. I was just numb, which I kept feeling for most of the rest of the game. Seriously, this might not be the worst game out there, but it hurt me more than any of the others. Anyway, I tried to fix that here. What do you think?
> 
> Note: I promised you lightsaber duels when I started this fic, didn't I? I'm not an expert in swordsmanship, but I tried to put what little I do know to use here. Feedback?
> 
> Note: Like with the Forerunner Soldiers, the Warden Eternal is wildly different from his game incarnation. Personally, I always found the Warden boring as hell. At one point he says, “If you knew what she (Cortana) has become, you would not speak of such juvenile concepts as 'home',” or something to that effect. Seriously, writers? Why don't you just have him rant about the idiocy of 'this thing you call love' while you're at it. You know, really complete the cliché. Anyway, I decided to just do my own thing with him. I'll have an explanation for his eccentricities later on, I swear.
> 
> Note: Apparently I was wrong about European fencing. From what I gather it's more about stabbing through the gaps in armor than chopping off limbs. I'll lampshade this somewhere ahead, but I figured I'd put a note here. I don't like perpetuating myths. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

 

John-117 awoke to complete darkness. It must not be roll call yet. He decided to remain still and enjoy the brief reprieve. Spartan training was rough, after all, and he wasn't about to squander what little rest he was allotted.

 

The world seemed to flash blue in front of him. A bunch of blue numbers and letters scrawled across his vision.

 

System Rebooting...

Energy Shield Rebooting...

 

Another flash, bright yellow this time. A strange crackling filled his ears as some sort of shell materialized around him.

 

_What the..._

 

Warning: Outer Layer Damaged.

Warning: Internal Injuries Detected.

Warning: Internal Bleeding Detected.

Warning: Administering Biofoam.

 

John felt a cold sensation flood his belly. Suddenly, he became aware of a throbbing pain throughout most of his body.

 

Awareness rushed over him. The events of the last day were suddenly remembered. He had been fighting someone...Alien figures on the surface...then...

 

_ONI._

 

The Master Chief suppressed a growl. He had been fighting an agent of ONI masquerading as a Spartan. No...he had been a Spartan. At least, he had been augmented. No servant of ONI could ever truly be considered a Spartan, in the Chief's eyes.

 

What had happened then? Right, a bizarre knight-thing had appeared. It claimed to be serving Cortana. That couldn't be. It was clearly of the same make as the combat drones that had engaged them on the surface. Cortana would never design such things, let alone order them to attack Blue Team. Not to mention the thing's anachronistic, fairy-tale vocabulary...

 

What had it done, exactly? Right, it released a shockwave. Then Fred had...

 

“Blue Team, sound off,” the Master Chief barked over his comms. He rose to his feet, activated his armor's enhanced vision mode, and took stock of his surroundings. He found himself looking at a pitch black cavern. He estimated it was about 20 meters across. There were several entrances to other portions of what he surmised was a cave system. Looking up, he saw that the roof seemed to extend at least 50 meters. Had he fallen the whole way? Doubtful. There should have been more damage to his armor if that were the case. Had he been teleported? He had used teleportation technology in other Forerunner installations.

 

There was no sign of Forerunner architecture or any other artificial construction. His surroundings appeared to be a cavern within the glassed topsoil. Had the entire complex simply vanished? Was this cave system formerly occupied by an installation composed entirely of hard-light?

 

“Blue One, here,” Fred responded. The Chief felt a wave of relief. Fred continued, “I'm pretty banged up, Blue Lead. Don't think I can drag myself out of here. Wherever here is...I think I'm in some sort of cave, over.”

 

“Copy Blue One,” the Master Chief responded. “Activate your homing beacon. I'll come to you.” They would have to risk detection. It could take far to long to locate Fred otherwise. His visor displayed the signal given out by Fred's armor. He was within 500 meters. Good. “Anyone else active?”

 

“Blue Two, here,” Linda responded. The Chief noticed that her voice was a bit more flat than usual. “I seem to be in a cave, as well. Head's a bit sore, but otherwise I'm combat ready, over.”

 

“Blue Three, here,” Kelly responded. “Likewise to Blue Two, over.” Again, the Chief was relived.

 

He ordered the other members of Blue Team to rendezvous at Blue One's location. He did an ammo check. His pistol was gone, doubtless lost in the fall. Or whatever had gotten him here. He sighed and drew his combat knife. He supposed things were going rather well, considering the circumstances. None of them were dead, at least. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something. His head really hurt...

 

A thought blazed its way across his mind.

 

“Dr. Halsey, come in,” the Chief commed, momentarily forgetting to use codenames. There was only silence on the line. “Dr. Halsey, please respond.” Silence again.

 

A cold weight settled in John's gut.

 

The Chief remotely activated the transponder in Dr. Halsey's hardsuit. There was a delay. It seemed to last a lifetime.

 

Suddenly, a 2 nd  signal was displayed on his HUD. John had to restrain himself from sprinting in its direction.

 

“Blue Two, continue to Blue One's location. Blue Three, you and I will go after the VIP. Copy?” His squadmates confirmed they had heard and were following his directions.

 

The Master Chief moved out, making his way toward the blip on his visor. Dr. Halsey would be fine. He would find her, unharmed, perhaps with a damaged comm unit. He was not about to lose her. He wouldn't allow it.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The members of Fireteam Osiris staggered into the former mining pit.

 

“'Mmm fine, dammit...” Spartan Tanaka mumbled. Spartan Buck and Spartan Vale were currently carrying her. Locke was scanning their surroundings, his Battle Rifle ready. Buck and Vale set Tanaka down. Vale ran a medical scanner over her.

 

So far, there was no sign that Blue Team had pursued them.

 

Not that they were sure Blue Team was even able to follow them. Just before Osiris had reached the entrance the entire facility around them had suddenly blinked out of existence. Fortunately, they landed on a slope of silicate about a meter below the former floor. They had then noticed with a shock that the slope abruptly ended about 3 meters behind them, turning into a gaping pit that none of them could see the bottom of.

 

 _What do we do now?_ Locke asked himself. He was in no mood to go hunting for Blue Team in completely unknown territory. The Spartan IIs could be waiting in ambush. Not to mention what other, more alien, surprises might be waiting for them in there.

 

Especially not after what Osiris had just gone through. As much as Locke hated to admit it, they had not exactly been winning that fight. They had done damage, certainly, but Blue Team had still been beating them. The dents, scrapes, and various marks on all of their armor sets attested to that. Most of them had even lost the neural inhibitors needed to subdue the renegade supersoldiers.

 

Renegade. Locke knew they were truly renegade, now. Prior to this meeting he, and the rest of ONI, had assumed that Dr. Halsey had lied to them. They assumed that the Spartans had trusted their 'mother' figure enough to buy a story of top secret missions and the need for zero contact with the rest of the UNSC. Inside the complex the Master Chief himself had informed him that they were willingly defying orders. That meant that...that...

 

The Spartan IIs had gone rebel.

 

Locke couldn't imagine a scenario more terrifying.

 

“So what's the story, boss?” Tanaka asked, dragging herself to her feet. The feeds from the medical scanner and her armor's biomonitors were reporting that she had a minor concussion, bruises covering 65% of her body, and multiple internal injuries. The biofoam would keep her in decent condition for a while, but she would need time in a sick bay soon. Her tone, however, clearly conveyed that she had no intention of sitting out whatever came next.

 

Locke thought for a moment. “We fall back, and regroup,” he replied. His teammates looked relieved. Locke opened a comm channel to their Pelican. “Echo-343, this is Osiris Lead. Repeat, Echo-343, this is Osiris Lead. Respond, over.”

 

“Copy, Osiris Lead, this is Echo-343. Awaiting orders, sir,” their pilot responded.

 

“Return to drop-off point for immediate extraction,” Locke ordered.

 

“Copy, Osiris Lead. Sir...we've been getting some crazy signals from Meridian Station. Seems they're under some sort of attack. We can't raise the _Emergence from Dusk_ , either. Please advise.”

 

Locke grimaced behind his polarized visor. He doubted he would be able to hide this from his team. “Copy, Echo-343. I'll brief you after pickup.”

 

“Copy, Osiris Lead. ETA 5 minutes.”

 

On a whim, Locke set his armor to scan for any and all UNSC signals within range. He knew that the frigate had been destroyed, but it was possible some of its crew had escaped.

 

His armor picked up a bizarre signal. It seemed to be coming from some sort of satellite in orbit that had avoided enemy detection. The strangest thing was that he didn't recognize the ID signature.

 

When he established contact with the satellite and his armor verified that its source was legitimate, a message started, and he knew why he didn't recognize it.

 

“Attention UNSC forces,” the Master Chief's voice said into his ear, “this is Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117. I am on the surface of UEG colony world Meridian. I have been engaged by an unknown enemy force. Repeat, I have been engaged by an unknown enemy force. Enemy is alien in nature, but does not appear to be Covenant. Repeat, enemy is not Covenant.”

 

The Master Chief's voice went on to give a detailed description of the infantry that Locke's Pelican had obliterated prior to their touching down. Apparently, their weapons and armor were more than Locke had given them credit for.

 

“Enemy units appeared to be preparing to move on Meridian Station. Repeat, enemy units preparing to move on Meridian Station. Recommend sending marine reinforcements to Meridian Station and targeting enemy units from orbit. My team and I will continue investigating on the ground. Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117, out.”

 

 _So he tried to get a warning out,_ Locke realized.

 

The Master Chief must not have known that the frigate was destroyed. It made sense, considering Blue Team had entered the Forerunner facility before Fireteam Osiris had arrived.

 

What really impressed Locke was the fact that the Chief was willing to sacrifice a substantial asset to warn them. Blue Team couldn't possibly have access to a large supply of stealth satellites and they had to know that the UNSC forces would triangulate and capture the satellite within minutes.

 

_And he sent out the signal anyway..._

 

Locke thought back to what the Master Chief had told him in the facility:

 

“ _We're following her because we trust her more than the people who give_ you _orders.”_

 

So, the members of Blue Team had lost faith. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened to members of ONI personnel. Most just tried to disappear, or even blackmail the ONI leadership; neither ever ended well for them. The Spartan IIs hadn't done that, though.

 

Blue Team had kept fighting.

 

Locke remembered why he had worshiped the Spartans as a child. Why he had found the Master Chief to be so inspirational. Why billions of people across the UEG found him so: no matter what the odds, they never stopped trying to save people. They never gave up. They were the ones who could do the impossible.

 

When Locke had found out about the Spartans origins, how they were conscripted as children and conditioned to follow orders, he had initially been devastated. He had realized that they weren't really heroes. They were just drones. Was this Dr. Halsey's doing? Did she order the signal to be sent out?

 

Or had Locke been wrong? Were the Spartan IIs...the Master Chief...more than he thought?

 

Pelican Echo-343 roared in overhead. It settled down on the bottom of the former mining pit. The members of Fireteam Osiris piled aboard. Locke ordered the pilot to circle the area, keeping an eye out for any hostiles. He would fill him in momentarily.

 

Locke, Tanaka, Vale, and Buck began doing field repairs on their armor. Temporary coating was applied to damaged plates. A banged up thruster was given a jury-rigged repair. Buck's stealth gear was given a hard reboot.

 

Locke was left wondering what he was going to tell them. What he was going to tell ONI command.

 

What he was going to tell himself.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“The goddamn frigate's _gone_?!” Buck demanded. “As in, 'blown the fuck up'?”

 

“Yes, Buck, that is what I said,” Locke replied. “It was destroyed just before we entered the facility.” He figured that they would figure out that he knew beforehand, regardless of what he did. People didn't become Spartans by being dumb, after all, and Locke suspected his subordinates were deliberately chosen for their ability to sniff out the truth.

 

“And you had us go in anyway,” Tanaka said. It was not a question. It also didn't bode well, considering the naked outrage and hostility in her tone. The fact that she had stood up and looked about ready to throw him out the back of the Pelican was also a bad sign.

 

“There was nothing we could do,” Locke tried to assure her. He knew that Tanaka was not someone he could simply intimidate into compliance. He needed to be more subtle than that. “The _Emergence from Dusk_ was already dead. Besides which, it was a solid bet that those hostiles came from the Forerunner facility itself. Our best shot at stopping them was to go in and try to find the control room.”

 

“So you're blaming Blue Team and Halsey for this,” Buck said, putting 2 and 2 together. He didn't sound like he was buying it. Locke wasn't certain he bought it himself, either.

 

“That's a distinct possibility,” he replied rather than voicing his doubts. “Whatever the case, it seems unlikely we will be able to shut them down now. The control room most likely vanished along with the rest of the facility--”

 

“And we'd probably get our asses handed to us again if we tried to go back in,” Buck interrupted. “You know, just a thought sir, but maybe we could have tried a less violent approach? I mean, they seemed at least willing to talk, and given what was at stake—”

 

“Given what was at stake, I decided we didn't have a choice,” Locke interrupted back, growing legitimately angry. He was no happier with what had happened than Buck was. “Whatever was going through their heads, I couldn't take the risk that I'd be able to get through to them with words. Or are you an expert on Spartan II psychology?” he demanded.

 

Buck didn't seem particularly placated. Tanaka looked like she was still within a micron of trying to rip his head off with her hands. Vale decided to speak up, saying, “What about Meridian Station? Are they alright?”

 

The various members of Fireteam Osiris paused. Locke opened a channel to the pilot, allowing the rest of the squad to listen in.

 

“Pilot, describe the messages you've picked up from Meridian Station,” he ordered.

 

The pilot responded in a hesitant, almost nervous voice. “Uh, it was less 'messages' and more 'desperate cries for help', sir,” he explained. “It sounded like some hostile force had breached the outer wall and was making its way toward the center of town. Communications cut off shortly after that.”

 

Buck, Vale, and Tanaka all stared at Locke. Buck's stare was challenging; it was obvious what he thought they should do now. Vale's stare was pleading; she seemed to still respect his authority, but would also clearly not be happy if he didn't do what she wanted. Tanaka's stare was also challenging, but with the added threat of violence; she would insist on them doing what she thought was right, with force if necessary. Locke decided that his course was set, if only to avoid a mutiny.

 

At least, that would be the excuse he used in his report. Any other motivations were things he would dwell on when they weren't all knee deep in it.

 

“Pilot, set a course for Meridian Station. We're going to provide what assistance we can.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Pelican was about a kilometer away from Meridian Station when alarms started blaring throughout the interior.

 

“Target lock, brace yourselves!” the pilot shouted, going into evasive maneuvers. The Pelican veered to the side, dove, and climbed erratically. The seat restraints strained to contain the half-ton bulk of the Spartan IVs. Locke was grateful he hadn't eaten for a while; throwing up in his helmet would be rather uncomfortable.

 

The stern end of the Pelican exploded. Shrapnel bounced off of the Spartans' energy shields and slashed the deck. Any debris was then quickly sucked back out of the gaping hole in the dropship's rear. Locke thought he could see one of the alien gunships fly past.

 

The Pelican began spinning violently. Locke desperately held onto the wall, fearing the centrifugal force would rip him out of his seat if he left it to his restraints. Slowly, the spinning stopped. The Pelican leveled out. Locke's stomach settled.

 

The Pelican crashed headfirst into the city wall.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Locke awoke to find himself lying on the dirt. He shook his head, sat up, and examined his surroundings.

 

The Pelican was lodged in the city wall about 5 meters above him. His restraints must have broken. He'd probably bounced off of the front of the personnel compartment and then fallen out of the gaping hole where the rear hatch used to be. The front end of the Pelican was not visible to him, having penetrated into the interior of Meridian Station. Locke swore to himself. He had hoped that by coming in low, they would be able to avoid detection. Apparently, he had been a bit overoptimistic.

 

Locke was about to comm his subordinates when the ground exploded behind him. He was flung to the ground, his energy shield depleted. Locke rolled into a crouch and drew his Battle Rifle. Fortunately, the magnetic strip along the back of his armor had held the weapon in place.

 

Two armored vehicles were approaching. They were both colored chrome. They vaguely resembled Armored Personnel Carriers, with a boxy frame, 3 large wheels along each side, and a relatively small primary weapon mounted on the top. Although, upon closer inspection he realized that in place of wheels were what appeared to be miniature versions of the glowing discs that propelled the enemy gunships.

 

There were also several of the nightmare infantry sitting on the top. Locke was reminded of war footage he had once seen of Soviet soldiers from the Second World War in the 20th Century. Were the inner compartments full? Why would anyone expose their infantry like that?

 

Locke opened fire. There was nowhere to run to; no cover to hide behind. Attacking seemed preferable to cowering in fear. His rifle was unlikely to do any damage to the vehicles themselves, but he figured he could down some of the soldiers. His augmented vision saw his rounds impacting the enemy armor, causing grid-cracks to spiderweb over them. However, it would not be enough. Locke saw a yellow light gather on the end of the vehicle's main gun. He was reminded of the blow the Warden Eternal had dealt Tanaka.

 

A bright red flash erupted from the Pelican's personnel compartment. The lead vehicle exploded in a fiery blast, taking its infantry with it. Locke whirled around. Spartan Buck was crouching in the Pelican. He had a Spartan Laser resting on his shoulder.

 

The 2nd enemy vehicle continued its advance. It didn't change direction. It didn't seek cover. It's infantry didn't even jump off. It was as if it hadn't noticed its twin be destroyed.

 

Whatever the reason for its behavior, Buck didn't seem inclined to waste an opportunity. After allowing the weapon to vent its excess heat, he took aim again. Buck fired the weapon. The 2nd APC-analogue joined its sibling in hell. Or wherever these things went when they burned up.

 

Locke scanned the area and checked his motion tracker. No targets. He had no illusions that would last.

 

“Clear,” he announced. He nodded his congratulations to Buck. The former ODST nodded in response. “Fireteam Osiris, check in,” Locke ordered.

 

“Osiris One, I'm in the Pelican. A bit banged up, but I'm okay, boss,” Tanaka responded. Locke checked her biomonitor feed anyway. She was still injured, but no worse than before.

 

“Osiris Two, likewise to Osiris One,” Vale responded, stepping next to Buck and waving.

 

“Osiris Three, likewise to Osiris One and Two,” Buck responded. “Although I'm feeling a bit better than I was a minute ago,” he quipped, patting his heavy weapon. Locke decided to let it pass. Buck had certainly earned it.

 

“Is everybody still armed?” Locke asked. His team confirmed that they all still had their weaponry. “Did the ammo locker make it?” Locke asked next. The last thing he needed was their weapons going dry.

 

“That's a positive, boss,” Tanaka commed with a grunt. Locke guessed she had just forced the door open. “Looks like everything's accounted for.”

 

That was a relief. “Break out the depleted uranium rounds. I want everyone loaded up,” Locke ordered.

 

“We not caring about collateral damage, sir?” Buck asked, concerned. Depleted uranium rounds were significantly more powerful than their regular armament. They were extremely dense, naturally armor piercing, and incendiary. This meant they would be able to down their targets more easily, but it also meant that any miss would do substantially more damage to whatever it hit. Including civilians. He hadn't ordered their use against Blue Team, as the whole point was to take them alive. There were also the health risks due to simple exposure. The natural combustion of DU rounds spread particles through the air which, if inhaled by humans, could cause bodily damage up to and including neurological disorders and birth defects. Thus, the use of DU was restricted to absolute necessity.

 

“I just got a good look at what their infantry's armor is capable of,” Locke responded. “Our current armament won't cut it here. We'll have to risk it.” Tanaka confirmed the order and began passing out the DU rounds.

 

“Osiris Two, what's the status of your sidearm?” Locke commed. Vale's plasma pistol was a top of the line model, much better than what the average unggoy carried. Even so, there were only so many charged shots it could fire before burning out. Having Vale loan it to Buck had been a costly but necessary move.

 

“I'd say it's on its last legs, sir,” Vale replied. “I wouldn't count on more than 1, maybe 2 shots left in it.”

 

Locke swore, careful not to transmit the expletive. He needed to appear that he had things together. Belatedly, he remembered their pilot. “Can anyone make their way into the cockpit?”

 

“Already went, boss. Pilot's KIA,” Tanaka responded. Locke swore again. He ordered Tanaka to retrieve the man's dog tags.

 

“Is there any way to enter the settlement through the front of the Pelican?” he asked next.

 

“That's a negative,” Tanaka replied again. “Unless you want to risk waiting for the cutting torch to do its thing.”

 

There was no way they could afford to stay in the dropship that long. They were sitting ducks already. Locke consulted his map. It seemed they were relatively close to the exterior gate.

 

“Alright, Osiris, let's gear up and move out. We've got a settlement to save.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The damage to Meridian Station was obvious before they even entered it. Most of the wind turbines that surrounded the settlement had been destroyed. Some of them still had one or two blades, spinning forlornly, while others had been reduced to metal poles with a molten tip where the generator had been. Locke supposed this explained the lack of artificial light coming from the settlement. The power grid must be down. If it weren't for the clear sky and full moon, it would be considerably more difficult to see.

 

The attack had come in the middle of the night. Locke grimaced as he realized that most people would have been asleep when the enemy arrived. Response time to the invasion would be even worse than it might have been otherwise.

 

Fireteam Osiris approached the exterior gate, hugging the wall the whole way. They wanted to stay out of the line of sight of any enemy units within the settlement for as long as possible. Locke came upon the open gate and held up a fist, signaling the others to stop. Although calling the gate 'open' was a bit inaccurate. It would be more appropriate to say it had been blown off its track. Locke guessed it was either the gunships or the APCs that must have done it. He hadn't seen anything resembling tanks, artillery, or demolition squads, thank Christ.

 

Locke snaked a fiberoptic cable around the jagged edge of the ruined gate. There were no targets in sight. Strange. He would have expected some sort of rear guard. He ordered Tanaka to go in first. Injured she may have been, her armor was still the toughest out of all of them. She would stand the best chance of survival if this turned out to be an ambush.

 

Tanaka moved into the settlement, making little effort to remain close to cover. She understood that the point was to lure out any waiting enemies. After a few minutes, she commed the all clear. Locke motioned the rest of the team forward, and Osiris reentered Meridian Station.

 

Things did not look good. As they made their way further in, they saw destruction all around them. Entire buildings had been gutted, collapsing into the street. Charred bodies filled the wreckage. They must have been victims of enemy weapons, as there were few actual fires; most of Meridian Station was built of non-flammable metals, plastics, or ceramics. Small blessings.

 

At least the ruined buildings gave them adequate cover and concealment. The Spartan IVs darted from cover to cover, never remaining in the open for more than a few seconds at a time. They moved through the now-ruined city like ghosts, silent and invisible. They avoided enemy patrols. If they were going to find and save what few colonists had managed to survive this long, they couldn't afford to get bogged down in unnecessary firefights.

 

Most of the ruined buildings seemed to have been hit from the air, the gunships clearly making use of the armaments that had destroyed a military starship. Locke had seen many of them from the Pelican, buzzing over the settlement like flies over a corpse. Fortunately, there seemed to be far fewer than when he had first seen them. It seemed the frigate had gone down hard. Still, there were a few dozen left, which was a few dozen too many for Locke's comfort. Osiris was careful to conceal themselves whenever one got too close.

 

The Administrative Building was visible in the distance, still towering over the rest of the 2 story buildings. Unfortunately, it seemed the former colony ship was not as impregnable as its residents might have liked to think. The exterior of the ship possessed numerous rents in its hull. Locke could see flames and black smoke billowing out from several of them. He would bet cash units that the enemy had already breached it.

 

The enemy infantry, which Osiris dubbed 'Forerunner Soldiers', had clearly been through here. There were countless marks all around them from what could only be infantry grade weapons. Holes and streaks marred nearly every surface they passed. Many of the bodies they saw, in gutted buildings and in the street, were also clearly victims of the Soldiers' wrath. They could hear weapons fire from deeper within the settlement. Along with human screams. This wasn't a battle; it was an extermination. Locke would swear he could feel Tanaka's eyes searing a hole through the side of his helmet. Osiris made their way towards the sounds of battle...of slaughter.

 

Try as he might, Locke could detect no human transmissions. It seemed the enemy was jamming comms. He didn't want to try breaking through. He lacked the expertise, not to mention the fact that it could enable the enemy to zero in on their location. They needed to maintain whatever element of surprise was left to them.

 

They came upon what appeared to be a last stand between some of the Security Forces and an assaulting force of Soldiers. The Security had set up several pieces of portable cover in front something called 'The Waterloo Pub'. Locke vaguely recalled it being one of the locations that had suffered a riot a few days ago. Shit, had it only been that long?

 

The Security Officers crouched behind the deployed cover. Said cover consisted mainly of high-density metal chest-high walls and a 5 meter tall guard tower. At least, he assumed it had been a guard tower. It seemed the Soldiers had concentrated their fire on it and melted it to slag. The portable cover seemed able to withstand quite a bit of sustained fire before failing; Locke wondered where they had acquired such quality gear.

 

The remaining Officers were putting up what Locke had to admit was a pretty good fight. They were armed with standard issue assault rifles and were wearing some kind of private security version of marine gear. Although, it seemed someone had skimped on the armor, as it appeared substantially less durable than the kind you'd see on a UNSC Marine. Regardless of their less than stellar armament, the Officers fought fiercely. Several of them were already wounded. One tough bastard was lacking an arm. He had rested his rifle on his cover, firing away with his right hand while what remained of his left arm was tied off with a tourniquet.

 

“Fireteam Osiris, let's help them out,” Locke ordered, motioning his subordinates into position. Fortunately, there were no APCs or gunships present. There were only about a dozen Soldiers assaulting the line, which was more than enough to overwhelm the Security Force.

 

It was not enough to resist Osiris' surprise assault.

 

The depleted uranium rounds performed beautifully. Osiris had to exercise extreme trigger discipline, not wanting stray shots to penetrate the building, but they were still able to down their enemies far more easily than they would have otherwise. The hard-light armor was only able to take a few hits before failing, revealing the black underlayer. Locke wondered if there was some sort of crystal beneath the underlayer similar to the Warden Eternal's arm. Whatever composed their innards, it was unable to withstand Osiris' precision fire. They all died within a minute of the engagement commencing.

 

Once he was certain there were no more Soldier forces in the immediate area, Locke activated the loudspeaker function of his helmet.

 

“Attention Meridian citizens, this is Spartan Jameson Locke of the UNSC. My fireteam and I are here to offer assistance. We're going to approach your position. Do not fire, I repeat do not fire on us.”

 

The Security Officers seemed to relax a bit, although they still kept their weapons pointed outward. Locke was pleased. The last thing he needed was for them to let their guard down. Locke and the other members of Fireteam Osiris approached the deployed cover.

 

“Who's in charge here, Officer?” he asked the most senior-looking of the defenders. These civilians lacked the Friend or Foe tags that would have transmitted their names and ranks to his armor's HUD. The Officers seemed to glance uncertainly at each other.

 

Another Officer stepped forward. “Uh, I guess that's me. It was Sgt. Kalani, but...” the Officer gestured to one of several deceased Officers lying just behind the deployed cover. Locke knew he needed to keep their minds off of the dead.

 

“What's your name, son?” Locke asked in an authoritative tone.

 

“O-Officer Delacroix, sir,” he responded.

 

Locke nodded. “Status report, Officer Delacroix.”

 

Delacroix took a moment to pull himself together. He began, “Well, shit's well and truly hit the fan. Less than an hour ago, I think, these...things just showed up outta nowhere. Kicked in the gate, started killin' their way to the Administrative Building. Meanwhile, their goddamn buzzards have been flyin' overhead, doing their level best to demolish the place.” Delacroix grimaced. “I've got no idea how many of us are left. Comms are down, and the Governor isn't answering. The Station nearest here, Kalani's, mobilized as best it could; I couldn't even make it to my own. We've got a couple hundred people hunkered down inside the bar. That just about covers it, I think.”

 

“What's the status of the automated defenses?” Locke asked, referring to the anti-aircraft and anti-infantry turrets scattered throughout Meridian Station. Some appeared to have been destroyed, but many were undamaged. Apparently the Soldiers didn't recognize the risk they posed. That, or they figured they were non-functional. Locke gestured to an anti-aircraft turret mounted on the roof of 'The Waterloo Pub' itself.

  
“Believe me, sir, I wish I knew,” Delacroix replied. “We don't have the codes needed to access them. Not that we even could, with the power out. Only Governor Sloan could have handled that.”

 

They made no outward sign of it, but Locke knew that the rest of his fireteam were glaring daggers at him.

 

There had to be some way to power and activate the defenses. They could turn the tide of the whole battle. Locke wracked his brain, trying to remember every detail he had learned about Meridian. A fact popped into the front of his mind.

 

“What about the backup fusion reactor buried in the center of the Station?” he asked. “Could that be activated?”

 

Delacroix seemed hopeful for a moment. Then, his face fell. “Ah, hell. The only place you could do that from would be the Administrative Building.” They all looked to the pierced carcass of the former colony ship. None of them were eager to make that kind of trip.

 

“Wouldn't the power grid be too damaged to run it anyway?” Buck asked.

 

Locke shook his head. “No, the defenses run on a separate grid. It's buried underground, in case this exact kind of scenario were to happen.” Locke paused a moment to think.

 

“Oh, shit,” Buck said unexpectedly. Everyone else raised their weapons and scanned for enemies. “No no, there's nothing there,” Buck assured them. “I just remembered something. Sir. There's a Scorpion tank a ways further into the city.”

 

Everyone just stared at him.

 

“A Scorpion,” Locke said, deadpan.

 

“Yeah, I know, it's ridiculous,” Buck conceded, “but I saw the thing myself, sir. Someone at company headquarters must have a loose wire or something, because they sent a fully functional MBT out here. Could be mighty useful.”

 

“Assuming we could get to it, get it started, and get it over here without drawing every hostile in the Station right to us,” Locke retorted. He gave it a moment's thought. “But it's a significant force multiplier, I'll give you that.”

 

Locke took stock of the situation. 'The Waterloo Pub' was built right in front of an enormous wall that separated the rest of the Settlement from warehouses storing valuable machinery and resources. The wall was 30 meters high and extended about 500 meters to the right and left of the building. To the immediate left and right were gates that allowed transports in and out of the secure area. Locke guessed that whoever built this place had just dropped it in the only available space left. He supposed that the gates were used infrequently enough that it didn't inconvenience patrons.

 

There was no parking lot, as few on Meridian possessed their own vehicles. There was, however, a wide open space of pavement directly across from the pub's entrance that was apparently meant to serve as an emergency landing pad.

 

 _At least there's room to breathe,_ he thought.

 

Locke quickly formulated a plan of action. It was risky, practically a Hail Mary play, but it was the best chance to save as many lives as they could.

 

“All right, here's the plan. Spartan Buck, you're going to make your way to the Administrative Building. You will enter the facility and make your way to the control systems, which you will use to activate the fusion reactor and authorize the usage of the auto-turrets. These hacking programs should be all you need to bypass the system's security,” Locke said, handing Buck some data cubes. To Locke's relief, Buck didn't argue. He didn't even complain. It seemed the former ODST was used to impossible odds. “If you encounter any survivors along the way, tell them to head here but do not, I repeat DO NOT, compromise yourself in any way. If you don't make it, we all die. Understood?” Buck nodded. While he was a bit too soft to be an ONI agent, Buck still clearly understood the necessity of picking his battles. It was the few he met along the way, or the entire surviving population of Meridian.

 

“Spartan Vale,” Locke continued, “you're on resource acquisition and search and rescue. Head to wherever Buck says that tank is stashed and bring it back here. We'll take control of it, and you'll go scour the ruins to get as many people back here as possible. This is our fortress. Understood?” Vale nodded resolutely. Locke had known that she would appreciate this duty more than any other.

 

Locke turned to the last member of his fireteam. “Spartan Tanaka, you and I will be leading the defenses here. It's our job to make this place as defensible as possible. We'll hunker down here, defending it until the _Infinity_ arrives. You'll be responsible for holding off any gunships until the defenses come online; you'll be stationed on the roof. Buck, give her the Spartan Laser.” Buck seemed hesitant to give up the weapon, but seemed to realize fairly quickly that they would need it far more than he possibly could. He handed over the anti-vehicle heavy weapon.

 

“Do you have any more of these portable defenses?” he asked Delacroix.

 

“Yeah, a few. Wasn't enough time to deploy all of 'em,” the Security Officer replied, pointing at a Meridian Security truck parked a short distance away. Again, Locke wondered why the hell they were so well equipped. He decided these were questions for later.

 

“Good,” Locke nodded. “I want you set these up around the rest of the building. I'll supervise you. Does anyone have any claymores?”

 

“I do,” Tanaka responded, to Locke's complete lack of surprise. She handed them over to him.

 

Locke looked at the forces assembled before him. 3 Spartan IVs, 2 of which he was sending away, only 1 heavy weapon, some adequate defenses, and about 13 civilian Security Officers.

 

 _Well, I always wanted to be just like the Master Chief. Now I get to face odds like his_ , Locke thought wryly.

 

“Alright, people, it's game time. Break and execute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I got the depleted uranium stuff from wikipedia. If any of it's inaccurate, feel free to let me know.
> 
> Note: One of the things I've tried to focus on is Locke's perception of the Master Chief. The add campaigns seemed to suggest an interesting direction for him that I've been trying to pay off here. It's building to something, I promise.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 

Tanaka tensed as she saw a gunship orient in the direction of Waterloo. She raised the Spartan Laser to her shoulder and activated the targeting scope. She couldn't afford a miss.

 

The gunship turned away and headed to another part of Meridian Station. Apparently word of the human fortification hadn't gotten out to the enemy yet. Tanaka relaxed. She lowered the Laser, sat back against the air filtration unit, and bit back a grimace at the pain. The bruises covering the majority of her body were becoming difficult to ignore.

 

Once the enemy began attacking Waterloo in earnest, the adrenaline should take care of that. As much as she loved a good fight, she'd rather just cope with the pain.

 

Tanaka was currently resting on the roof of 'The Waterloo Pub', designated simply 'Waterloo' by Locke for convenience. Were this a traditional fortified position, they would have picked a less descriptive name. Since they wanted as many colonists to find their way here as possible, they had elected to make the name a direct reference to the location itself. It was smart.

 

_About the only smart thing Locke's done so far,_ Tanaka reflected with a scowl. Once this was over she'd have to think long and hard about whether she'd be willing to follow the jackass that disabled the defense grid just because his bosses told him to. Technically, Tanaka was a non-com, so she couldn't just reassign herself. But that didn't mean she couldn't make some waves.

 

_When this is all over..._

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The enemy patrol moved closer. Spartan Vale ducked into the nearest alley.

 

This wasn't good. Vale had been attempting to reach the Security Station that housed the Scorpion tank for the better part of 2 hours. Every time she got close, she ran into more Soldiers. She could handle a small group. The reinforcements that would be drawn to the firefight were another story. This latest group was coming perilously close to finding her.

 

Vale cursed silently as she realized the alley had been blocked by debris. The odd rumbling-clicking noises continued increasing in pitch. The red blips on her motion tracker were getting closer. She looked around desperately. She saw that the building next to her had been partially gutted. There was an opening in the 2nd floor wall.

 

Vale leaped up to the 2nd story hole. She didn't want to risk using her thrusters; the noise could give her away. Fortunately, her augmentations and the strength enhancing MJOLNIR armor were enough to get her up.

 

Upon entering the building, Vale immediately ducked behind cover and snaked a fiberoptic probe around the hole.

 

A group of 4 Soldiers entered the alley. Fortunately, their behavior didn't seem to indicate that they knew she was there. They all walked with the same aggressive, puppet-like movements that made them so unnerving. Upon reaching the end of the alley, rather than go back out, they leveled their weapons and began firing. They kept up the fire until the rubble had been melted away and then exited the alley. Vale breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Once again, the Spartan was confused by her new enemy. The streets and alleys on either side of this one were all clear. Why would they waste ammunition and time, not to mention risk giving away their location, just to keep going this one way? Sure, they basically owned the city, but there could still be humans lying in ambush.

 

Some rubble collapsed to the floor behind her. Vale pivoted around, bringing her Assault Rifle into position. There was nothing there. Nothing appeared on her motion tracker. Looking around, Vale realized that she had wound up back in the Prospector barracks 'Icarus Flats'.

 

It seemed the Soldiers had already been through here. The roof had partially collapsed, filling the room with debris. Several of the columns of sleeping pods that the Prospectors called home had been toppled. Cold bodies littered the floor. She could tell that some had tried to hide in the sleeping pods themselves, likely too terrified to realize the futility of such an action. Scorched and broken corpses hung half out of the pods, either resting on the ground or hanging suspended over the floor.

 

Vale activated the thermal vision function in her helmet. She quickly identified several bright red silhouettes. A pulse of joy went through the diplomat's daughter. She had found survivors!

 

“It's okay,” the Spartan whispered as loudly as she dared. “I'm a UNSC soldier. I'm here to help. Please, come out.”

 

A single figure nervously rose from its hiding place in the wreckage. It turned out to be a relatively short woman with graying hair in a ponytail. Vale instantly remembered the colonist's name.

 

“Evelyn Collins?” Vale asked. The figure seemed startled. “It's me, Olympia Vale. We talked a few days ago when I visited Icarus Flats, remember?”

 

Collins seemed to relax, although Vale could tell she was still on edge. “Is it safe?” the colonist whispered.

 

“For the moment, yes,” Vale said, checking the fiberoptic probe. Nothing there. The motion tracker was also clear.

 

“Damn it's good to see you, ma'am,” Collins said as the Spartan approached her. Several other survivors popped their heads up from their hiding spots in the debris.

 

“How did you all survive in here?” Vale asked, curious.

 

Collins grimaced, clearly fighting back tears. “We didn't 'all' make it,” she said. Vale cringed internally at her gaffe. Collins continued, “some of us got covered in rubble when those... _monsters_ came through. We spent a lot of time digging each other out. Now, though...” It was clear she didn't know what to do, but didn't want to admit it. She needed to seem in control to the people who were clearly still following her.

 

“Well, you're in luck,” Vale assured her, “the rest of my fireteam have established a secure position in The Waterloo Pub. Do you know it?”

 

The colonists all perked up at this. “Sure,” Collins replied. “It's a ways inward, but I've been there on occasion. Hang on, lemme' talk with them about this.” After a brief conversation with her followers, the community leader informed Vale that they would be willing to make the trek to Waterloo.

 

“Good,” Vale replied. “You're going to need to pack up. Take only what you absolutely need to survive. I'll go with you for a while, since I need to backtrack, but you'll have to make it there on your own.” The colonists seemed significantly less pleased about that part of the plan. “I'm sorry, but I need to gather supplies if we're going to keep Waterloo safe. Now hurry up, we've wasted enough time here.”

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_All things considered, this looks pretty solid,_ Locke thought. He was examining the finalized defenses around Waterloo. 

 

There had turned out to be enough deployable cover to create a perimeter around the front and most of the sides of the building. This would enable them to move freely without having to sprint out of cover. Locke had laid down claymores at the ends of the sides where they simply hadn't had enough to reach the wall.

 

Locke had also used his cutting torch to weld the emergency exits shut. Now they only had to worry about the main entrance at the center of their fortifications. It wasn't perfect, but it would at least put up a fight.

 

Unfortunately, the Security Force itself hadn't held up as well as their supplies. Most of the Officers had died before Osiris even arrived. Locke had the survivors pile the bodies to the side after stripping them of useful gear. Some of the Officers didn't like that, viewing it as robbing the dead. Locke had reminded them that they needed every scrap of supplies they could get and that the dead didn't need it as much as the living.

 

Then, there was the wounded. 3 of the 13 Security Officers had to be moved inside, being too injured to be effective on the line. The one-armed man was among them. He had fallen into shock shortly after Osiris' arrival, a common effect of adrenaline wear-off among the maimed. Hopefully the other 2 would be able to repulse any enemies that made it past the line.

 

A Security Officer's head exploded.

 

“Incoming! Get to cover!” Locke shouted. The battle had begun.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Spartan Vale fired her Assault Rifle. The Soldiers ducked out of her line of sight.

 

Vale noticed that the Soldiers had taken cover next to a building that had been weakened considerably by weapons fire. The Spartan unloaded a full magazine into what little remained of its structural support.

 

The Soldiers popped out of cover and fired on Vale. She didn't bother ducking.

 

The building collapsed into the street. The Soldiers were all crushed, their deaths causing miniature geysers of rubble to shoot up in small, fiery eruptions.

 

This wasn't good. Enemy activity had become so dense that she wasn't able to avoid detection anymore. She had actually been pushed back significantly. Hell, she was almost within sight of Waterloo.

 

Spartan Vale snaked a fiberoptic probe around a corner. She saw Waterloo under assault. Deciding the tank was a lost cause, she rushed back to aid her squadmates.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Enemy fire forced Locke to duck beneath cover. He rushed to the right of his position before popping up again. The enemy, still firing at his last position, took a moment to notice where he'd gone. That moment proved fatal. Locke ducked below cover again, reloading his weapon as his enemy disappeared in a fiery blast.

 

Locke rose out of cover and fired on the last group of Soldiers. Suddenly, the enemy units came under fire from outside the human perimeter. Not wasting a moment to wonder who was aiding him, Locke targeted the Soldiers whose armor was being weakened by Assault Rifle fire.

 

An enemy's armor broke. Locke fired into the black patch. The enemy exploded. Another enemy stumbled, staggered by the blast. Locke placed a 3-round burst straight into its visor. This enemy also exploded. The remaining units fell back, leaving the battlefield empty.

 

Spartan Vale sprinted into the human perimeter. She was conspicuously lacking an armored vehicle.

 

“Osiris Two, I thought I assigned you to resource acquisition,” Locke said once she had made her way to his position. The comms were still down within the city walls.

 

“Never made it, sir,” Vale replied. “Area's thick with Soldiers that way. Spent hours just trying to sneak through. Can't even do that anymore.”

 

Once again, Locke swore without transmitting the noise.

 

“Incoming Buzzards!” Delacroix shouted, using the newly-coined nickname for the enemy gunships. Locke's gaze snapped up to the sky. It seemed what passed for the Soldier airforce had finally taken notice of them.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Tanaka took aim. The Spartan Laser's targeting scope beeped several times before emitting a steady chime and painting a red circle around the enemy gunship. Target lock. She fired the weapon. The Buzzard exploded. Another kill.

 

The final Buzzard oriented on Tanaka's position before the Laser had vented its excess heat. A ball of light gathered at the end of its cannon. Tanaka swore violently.

 

The Spartan IV leaped over the air filtration unit just before the enemy blast hit her position. A quarter of the roof collapsed into the 2nd floor. Tanaka's Shield flared brightly. Her steps became unsteady as the roof destabilized beneath her. She barely reached solid footing in time.

 

The Laser finished venting. Tanaka fell to one knee and took aim. The Buzzard was close enough that she didn't even need a target lock. Her augmented sight and reflexes enabled her to dumb-fire the weapon with pinpoint accuracy.

 

The enemy made a gratifyingly loud noise as it was blasted to oblivion.

 

The Spartan scanned the sky for targets. It seemed she had already downed the only Buzzards to have shown an interest in the human fortress. Once again, she found herself grateful for the illogical and uncoordinated behavior of these freaks.

 

Waterloo's roof looked wrecked. There was still room to maneuver up top but she definitely wouldn't want to spend too much time underneath it. Fortunately, there were no survivors gathered on the 2nd floor. However, she knew that the building wouldn't be able to take many more shots like that without collapsing entirely. She loaded a fresh battery pack into the energy weapon while looking out over the now-empty battlefield. It seemed things had quieted down for now.

 

Why did that always make her feel worse rather than better?

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The enemy patrol passed by Spartan Buck's position, never realizing that he was there. Buck's pulse never wavered. This was not his first rodeo.

 

The stealth expert eased out of cover and carefully moved to the next bit of concealment. He kept his cloak on the entire way. Upon reaching his destination, and making sure it was invisible to the street, Buck shut down his cloak. He'd been using it far too often and for far too long at a time. If he kept this up, he might burn out the circuits. Unfortunately, the city was so dense with enemies that he found himself unable to leave it inactive very often.

 

Someone screamed. Buck raised his silenced submachine gun and snaked a probe out of cover. He saw a small group of colonists trying to run away from a group of 12 Soldiers. The Soldiers had already killed 2 of them. Buck's instincts screamed at him to intervene.

 

He ignored them.

 

One of the civilians had his head vaporized. Another was shot in the back, a hole burned through his chest; a female colonist was holding his hand. She was dragged to the ground with him. Most of her torso was obliterated before she could free herself from her companion's death grip. The rest of the civilians were gunned down in a matter of seconds. The Soldiers inspected the bodies briefly before moving on. Buck settled back into cover.

 

_It's gotten easier to do that over the years,_ Buck reflected. Early in his career he would have leaped to intervene and try to save those civilians. He'd once nearly blown an operation attempting to do something similar. Over time, he had learned the necessity of prioritization. He couldn't afford to reveal himself. If he didn't make it, the defenses would never be turned on. Those people would still be dead, only with everyone else along with them.

 

That still didn't make Buck feel any better about it. He clung to that feeling, that guilt. He knew that if he ever lost it, he would lose his way completely. He would become a monster.

 

Buck wondered if Locke still had that feeling whenever he did something horrible-but-necessary.

 

_Alright, break's over,_ Buck thought, deciding he'd given his cloak enough of a rest. He continued moving toward the Administrative Building. 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The sound of a dwindling firefight drew Vale's attention. She had been sent back out to look for survivors, directing them to make their way to Waterloo. She hoped some more made it.

 

Vale came upon the ending of a battle. A trio of Security Officers lay dead in the street. A short distance away, a pair of Soldiers was about to execute a downed Officer. One had its foot on the man's right arm, preventing him from reaching his rifle, while the other was aiming its weapon at the Officer's head. They seemed to be drawing the moment out. It was almost as if they were savoring the kill.

 

Strange. Vale hadn't seen any incidents of this type of sadism until now. The Soldiers had just seemed like malfunctioning killbots up until this point.

 

Whatever questions this raised about Soldier psychology were best left to the experts, Vale decided. She opened fire, using controlled bursts. She was careful not to actually kill either of them. She didn't want the Officer to die in the blast. Both enemies immediately forgot about their former prey, turning to fire on Vale.

 

This proved to be a mistake. The Officer grabbed his rifle, vaulted into cover, and immediately opened fire on the Soldiers. With their attention divided, Vale was able to eliminate them 1 by 1. When the last Soldier burnt to ash, Vale approached the human warrior.

 

“Nice moves,” Vale complemented. She hadn't expected such courage from a Security Officer.

 

“Likewise,” the man replied. His eyes gained a pleading intensity behind his helmet's visor. “Please tell me you're from that safe house I've been hearing about.”

 

“Yes, I am,” Vale confirmed. “I--”

 

The Officer interrupted before she could continue. “Good, 'cause I was just the scout for a larger group of survivors. We've got about a 50 people holed up in a building just down the road. Can you help us?”

 

“Of course. Take me to them, Officer,” Vale responded at once. This was exactly the sort of thing she had enlisted for.

 

The Officer led her to the group of survivors. To her shock and disappointment, she found Evelyn Collins among them.

 

“Sorry to say we got a bit sidetracked,” Collins told her with a nervous chuckle. “Bad guys started popping up shortly after we parted ways. Wound up all the way over here by the time we met some friendlies.”

 

“Well, I'm sticking with you this time,” Vale said resolutely. She was going to get these people to safety. She examined the people present. There were 46 civilians and 7 Security Officers. Vale walked to the front of the group and addressed them all. “Alright, people, listen up. We're going to be getting you to safety. To do that, you need to do what we tell you, when we tell you. Understood?” The civilians nodded. “Good. I will act as your scout. I will move down the way we need to go, then send a signal if it is all clear. I will use flashes of light in Morse Code, as wireless communications are still down. Do not move forward without my signal. Understood?” More nods. “Excellent. Let's move out”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Things were not going as planned.

 

The survivors had made their way through the ruined city reasonably well. With Vale scouting, they had known when to duck into buildings to avoid enemy patrols. They had avoided any combat. As they got closer to Waterloo, however, that changed.

 

Vale was leading the advance group of Security Officers through an alley. They would secure the alley exit and provide cover if the enemy closed on their position. If this worked out, they would cut precious minutes off the journey. They were half-way through what she hoped would be a good short-cut when Soldier infantry suddenly moved in from the opposite side.

 

“Assume position A-3!” Vale ordered, referring to one of the few maneuvers she had explained to the Officers. Fortunately, they had proven to be quick studies.

 

No longer caring about stealth, Vale used her thrusters in addition to her augmented strength to leap onto the roof of one of the buildings. She found a Soldier already up there. Before the enemy could even orient on her, Vale surged forward on her thrusters and knocked it off the edge.

 

Looking back into the alley, she saw the Officers performing as required. The Officer closest to the front was lying prone, the Officer behind him was crouched, and the Officer furthest to the rear was standing. This formation allowed all of them to fire their weapons at once without risk of hitting their comrades in the cramped quarters. Vale added her fire to theirs. The Soldiers were dispatched swiftly.

 

After scanning to ensure there were no more hostiles, she sent 1 of the Officers back to fetch the survivors. They couldn't afford the time it would take to secure another route. With the enemy seeming to close in on Waterloo, they had to push forward with all possible speed.

 

The survivor group made its way through the alley. Just as the last of them entered, the building behind them exploded. Showers of metals and plastics rained into the street. The survivors toward the rear pushed forward in a near panic. Vale looked to the end of the street. Her eyes widened.

 

The Spartan leaped off of the rooftop she was on. A few short seconds later the area of roof she had been standing on exploded as well. Down the street, closing on the survivors, was the culprit: a Soldier APC.

 

Vale ran to the forward of the group, past the Officers desperately trying to keep the regular colonists from panicking. She raced to the end of the current street. She peeked around the corner. All clear.

 

Vale motioned the survivors forward. There was no longer any time for true stealth. They raced forward like this for about half of a kilometer. At that point, Vale encountered the last thing she wanted to see: a large force of Soldier infantry, at least 20 strong, turned onto the street and moved toward her position. She rushed back, looking at alleys and sidestreets for a means of escape for the colonists. Every avenue she saw had Soldier forces coming down them. Looking back down the road past the colonists, Vale could see more Soldiers coming into view along with multiple APCs.

 

They had been led into a trap.

 

They needed to get the colonists out of the open. Now. Vale looked around, noticing a building that looked large enough to hold all of the survivors. She rushed over and hacked the door controls.

 

_Like riding a bicycle,_ Vale thought, remembering her escapes from the diplomatic compounds of her youth. 

 

“In here!” she shouted. The colonists began piling in. She loaded a special round into her rifle. She aimed it into the air and fired. The flare ignited. Hopefully, it would draw help. The Spartan desperately missed comms.

 

Vale ordered the Security Officers to guard the entrance while she rushed to defend the back of the line. She reached the rear and took cover behind a piece of collapsed building.

 

A force of enemy infantry advanced down the street. Vale opened fire. Several of them charged forward, blind to the danger. Vale rewarded them with a fiery demise. Some of the others, however, were smart enough to duck into cover.

 

_I wish they'd make up their minds about infantry tactics_ , Vale lamented silently. She kept her weapon trained on the rubble her enemy had taken cover behind. Several seconds passed. 

 

A cluster of red dots got closer on her motion tracker. They were attempting to flank her. Vale drew a couple of grenades and dropped them at her feet. She activated her thrusters, launching herself away just as the enemy sprung up from the side.

 

The grenades went off. The soldiers were hit with force and shrapnel. Vale fired upon the enemy while still flying through the air. Her rounds penetrated the weakened armor of a Soldier. It exploded, further weakening the shields of its closely packed comrades. The Spartan landed, opened fire again, and quickly disposed of the remaining hostiles.

 

An APC turned the corner into the street. There were now armored vehicles on both ends, with infantry blocking the alleys. Vale sprinted back to the temporary shelter, using her thrusters to give her maximum speed.

 

It was not quite enough. An APC fired, striking the ground less than a meter behind her. Her shield instantly failed. Her armor, weakened from her fight with the Spartan II, was breached. She was flung through the air. She landed hard in the rubble of a building next to the shelter.

 

Red alarms blazed on the interior of Vale's visor.

 

Warning: Armor penetrated in multiple points.

 

Warning: Internal injuries detected.

 

Warning: Foreign objects detected within body.

 

Warning: Internal bleeding detected.

 

Warning: Significant blood loss detected.

 

Warning: Administering biofoam.

 

Vale groaned in pain. Her head spun. Her vision was blurry. The biofoam helped numb the pain, but she could still _feel_ her injuries. Her decision to minimize the amount and size of armor plates to maximize mobility had finally come back to bite her.

 

A pair of Security Officers rushed to her side. Each Officer grabbed one of her arms under the armpit and began dragging her toward the shelter. Vale was impressed. Her quarter-ton bulk couldn't have been easy to drag, even for a pair.

 

The Officers were about to drag Vale inside. She refused. She was not going to hide inside with the others. They helped prop her up against a railing. She rested her Assault Rifle on the top.

 

The Soldier infantry was moving in. Vale fired, remembering to use short, controlled bursts. She downed several Soldiers, but there were just too many.

 

The APCs moved closer from each end of the street.

 

The exteriors of buildings exploded as APC rounds hit them. Soldier infantry fire punched holes through every surface they hit. Vale's cover was pierced; her shield barely withstood the blow. She kept firing.

 

The APCs moved closer.

 

Security Officers started dying around her. One took a shot to the head. His skull disappeared from the eyebrows up. Another took a shot to the chest. Vale could briefly see clear to the other side of his body before he collapsed into a pool of his own lifeblood. On and on it went.

 

Before long, Vale was alone outside the shelter. She kept firing.

 

The APCs moved closer.

 

At this point, Vale could start attacking them by throwing chunks of debris at the vehicles, even in her weakened state. She faintly reflected that she may have to do just that. She was burning through the last of her ammunition.

 

The prospect of imminent death should probably be more disconcerting to her than it appeared to be. Everything just seemed so...hazy. Indistinct. Even the Soldiers getting ever closer to her position seemed almost to be far away. Vale realized that she was probably dying.

 

The APCs moved closer. Light began to collect on the ends of their cannons.

 

Vale loaded the last of her magazines into her rifle. She kept firing.

 

Suddenly, one of the APCs exploded.

 

Vale heard a rumbling sound coming from the end of the street. However, it was not the rumbling-clicking of the Soldiers' bizarre language. Rather, it was a more familiar noise. One that Vale could almost place...

 

Spartan and former UNSC Marine Olypmia Vale recognized the characteristic sound of an M808B Scorpion tank just before it rolled into view.

 

The Scorpion's main gun fired again. Another APC exploded, destroyed by the mighty 90mm tungsten shell. The remaining APCs fired on the Main Battle Tank. Their rounds struck the Scorpion's armor. Vale's view of the vehicle was briefly obscured by the flashes.

 

The Scorpion emerged from the visual obstruction, moving down the street as relentlessly as the APCs had mere moments ago. The Soldier infantry rushed forward. Apparently, they intended to get within the effective range of its main gun. What they didn't account for was the machine gun mounted just below the primary armament.

 

The computer-guided M247T Medium Machine Gun tore the enemy apart with precision. Soldiers combusted like rapid-fire fireworks on a Founders Day celebration.

 

The APCs fired again. They had as little effect as the first volley. The Scorpion methodically, almost casually, eliminated each enemy vehicle one by one. Vale reflected that it was nice to see a one-sided battle weighted in favor of human forces, for a change.

 

Once the last of the Soldier forces had been eliminated, a trio of Meridian Security Vehicles drove down the road to join their armored leader. Several Officers and what was clearly a medic rushed out. Most of the Officers moved inside to retrieve the colonists. Excellent. The civvies would be safe.

 

The medic went up to Vale and ran a medical scanner over her. He removed a baggie of synthetic plasma from his pack and asked her to open a port to allow an intravenous drip. She complied.

 

Maybe she'd get to live after all.

 

Bonus.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The space outside the entrance to the Administrative Building was covered in human bodies. Judging by the ripped open door, Buck surmised that they had been locked out before the Soldiers arrived. The social elite probably hadn't wanted to risk enemies gaining entry to their sanctuary.

 

Thus, they had allowed their fellow colonists to be slaughtered right outside their door.

 

It hadn't helped them in the end. The door had been breached. The enemy had entered. As Buck discovered upon sneaking into the building, cloak activated, the Soldiers hadn't cared about social status. They murdered everyone, aristocrat and commoner alike.

 

Buck couldn't decide if the interior of the Administrative Building resembled a slaughter house or hell itself. Given the red emergency lighting and signs of human carnage all around him, he was leaning toward the latter.

 

A curious sight caught his eye. He spotted a corpse dressed in rather ornate armor. Gold was mixed in with the company red and blue color scheme. The nameplate on the chest-piece confirmed what Buck suspected: this was Captain Jackson, the peacock officer that had greeted Osiris upon their first arrival on Meridian. The body was missing its head from the neck up. Buck wondered if he had been wearing his beret when he died.

 

It seemed the late Captain's vanity had extended to his weaponry as well as his armor. He clutched an ornate SMG in his hands. The Spartan recognized it as one of the latest models. It had a distinctly non-regulation ivory grip and foregrip, as well as what appeared to be silver inlays.

 

Buck moved to strip him of ammo before remembering he was using DU rounds. Force of habit, he supposed. He laughed mentally at the madness of war. Only there could a man accumulate the habit of grave-robbing while performing perfectly legitimate duties.

 

The stealth expert moved further into the ruined colony ship. He was close to completing his mission.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Spartan Locke thanked the Security Officer as his men hauled an unconscious Vale into Waterloo. The non-combatant civilians that Vale had found moved inside to join their fellow survivors. Locke felt a swell of pride, in his subordinate and in his mission. They were finally saving lives. The positive feeling was quickly swamped as his conscience reminded him that he was largely responsible for the fall of Meridian Station. He pushed any such thoughts away to be examined later. He looked at the Security Officer who had been driving the Scorpion.

 

It seemed that this 'Sgt. Ajit Singh' was an Army veteran. His implant enabled him to access and operate the Scorpion tank Vale had been unable to reach earlier. Apparently, it had been rather difficult for even the tank to punch through the enemy lines.

 

“Think you can keep this thing running a while longer?” Locke asked. “It should only be a couple more hours before the fleet arrives in orbit.”

 

Singh seemed to almost collapse in his cockpit seat in relief. “Son, you have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he said. The sergeant set his features. “You can count on my help to hold the line. My people haven't survived this much just to die to these alien freaks now.”

 

Locke nodded before the closing canopy blocked the sergeant from view. The Spartan wished he had taken the time to get to know this man before everything went to hell. He felt a shred of kinship with him.

 

An APC round detonated against the side of the tank.

 

Locke lunged back into cover along with the remaining Security Officers. He looked up the north end of the street. He quickly wished he hadn't.

 

There was an entire line of Soldier APCs rumbling down the street toward the human stronghold. Soldier infantry ran along the sides of the road, seeming to flow around the vehicles like a flood.

 

The Scorpion moved forward. Its main cannon fired, destroying an APC. Its machine gun barked a continuous stream of deadly rounds. Scores of Soldiers perished.

 

More kept coming.

 

Like the gunships' initial attack on the frigate, for every APC and Soldier that fell, 2 more seemed to rush forward to replace them. The Scorpion quickly found itself completely occupied holding back the tide.

 

A Security Officer was shot dead. Notably, the shot came from a direction other than the one the Scorpion was defending.

 

Locke whirled in place. Across the emergency starport, another wave of infantry was advancing. This time, there were hundreds of Soldiers moving forward.

 

Soldier infantry surged forward. Some of them had gotten the bright idea to use pieces of debris as portable cover. It didn't do much against the Spartan's DU rounds, but it did help deflect the standard ammo the civilians were using.

 

The world around Locke exploded.

 

He found himself lying against the side of the building. The Security Officer, Delacroix, was firing away above him. His armor blared red warnings. He tasted blood. His head swam for a moment. He shook it clear.

 

The cover he had been standing behind, the part directly in front of Waterloo's entrance, had been obliterated. It must have been targeted by one of the Buzzards. At least 3 Officers had been killed in the blast. He wouldn't know exactly how many until he counted all of the pieces. A gunship flew past overhead. Locke grabbed his Battle Rifle, rose to his feet, thanked Delacroix for covering him, and got back on the line.

 

Locke noticed a swarm of Buzzards flying toward the humans' position.

 

Locke hoped Tanaka was still paying attention.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Spartan Laser flashed. Yet another Buzzard was downed. Tanaka replaced the weapon's battery pack and waited for it to vent excess heat.

 

At least a dozen more enemy gunships were heading toward Waterloo.

 

Even if she managed not to get killed by the overwhelming numbers, she wasn't sure that she had enough battery packs to handle them all. Numerous profanities began flying through her head in a continuous stream.

 

“Hey, Spartan!” a voice shouted from the doorway to the 2nd floor. Tanaka's head snapped toward the noise. A Hispanic woman was standing in the doorway, trying to wave her over. What the hell did this civvie think she was doing?!

 

The Spartan rushed over to the door and practically shoved the woman inside. “Go back to where you belong!” she shouted.

 

The civvie was obviously terrified. She was trembling and the Spartan could tell that she only maintained her steady facial expression through sheer force of will. Despite this, and with a determination that would have impressed Tanaka in different circumstances, the woman held her ground. “You're gonna want to hear what I have to say,” she insisted. Tanaka glanced upward. The gunships were getting closer. She had _no_ time for this.

 

What the colonist said next changed her mind. “How'd you like to turn that thing on?” she asked.

 

She was gesturing at the AA battery.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Scorpion was still holding off the enemy to the north. A seemingly endless stream of Soldier infantry and APCs kept it from focusing its attention elsewhere. Every once in a while a Buzzard would deliver a blow to the armored vehicle. Each time Locke grimaced, expecting to see the tank destroyed. It held together, a testament to human engineering, but Locke could tell that the armor plating was beginning to warp. If it took fire much longer, Sgt. Singh would burn up like the enemies he was currently mowing down.

 

A group of about 5 Soldiers was making a bee-line for the molten hole in the defenses. Their intention was obvious: they wanted to get inside Waterloo. Locke opened fire along with the remaining Officers. An enemy exploded, but the Soldiers had spread out enough that the damage was minimal. It seemed they were learning. As the enemy got dangerously close to the human perimeter, Locke noticed several more Buzzards moving in from other parts of the city.

 

_Where in the hell is Tanaka?_

 

Locke's question was answered when Spartan Holly Tanaka landed on top of a Soldier.

 

Apparently, Osiris One had decided to jump off of the roof. She had deployed her hard-light barrier and had used that to land on, and crush, her enemy. Said enemy exploded, thrusting Tanaka into the air. She twisted mid-flight and landed on her feet. She fired her SAW around her barrier, peppering her enemy with DU rounds. 

 

An enemy fell. Then another. For a moment, it looked like she might check their advance single-handed.

 

Then the Soldiers who weren't part of the charge focused fire on her. Tanaka's barrier began turning a brighter shade of red. It was close to overloading. Tanaka backed slowly toward cover, firing all the way. She deactivated her barrier just before it would have failed and lunged into cover beside Locke. They both crouched low to avoid the suppressing fire.

 

“Osiris One,” Locke said in a deliberately calm voice, “I appreciate theatrics as much as the next man, but didn't I order you to stay on the roof?”

 

“Sure did, boss,” Tanaka said, placing her SAW on her cover and firing blind. “But I think you'll be interested in what a colonist just told me.”

 

Soldier fire continued flying over their heads. The infantry that was content to stay behind cover while a few charged the line had no intention of letting up. “Impress me,” he said, wondering when in the hell she'd had the time to talk to a civvie.

 

“Turns out one of the new arrivals Vale found, a 'Michelle Cortez', is friends with the guy who owns this place,” Tanaka explained. “She says the owner's got this huge industrial generator in the basement. Wanted it in case the power grid ever went down. Given the wattage, it might be enough to power the AA battery for a bit.”

 

_That_ was worth a thought. Of course, no generator would be able to power a laser AA battery for an extended period of time. There was a reason those things were hooked up to fusion reactors. It might last long enough to fight off the attacking Buzzard gunships, though.

 

Locke shook his head. There were too many unknowns. They would have to find a way to hook the generator up to the AA battery. Then, they'd have to hack the defensive turret itself and activate it manually. Even assuming that it worked flawlessly, they would then have to ensure that it would still come back online when Buck turned the entire system on. They didn't even know if the generator would have enough juice for  _one_ shot, let alone enough to make a difference.

 

“They're breaching the perimeter!” Delacroix shouted. His voice was tinged with desperation.

 

The attacking Soldiers had reached the human defenses. A Security Officer attempted to stop them. One of the Soldiers smashed his head in with the butt of its weapon and kept going. It didn't even break stride. The enemy entered Waterloo.

 

Another explosion sounded just outside of the perimeter. Locke turned to see a group of about 30 Soldiers advancing...in front of an APC.

 

Suddenly, Locke was no longer on Meridian. He was not a Spartan. He was not a warrior. He was not even an adult.

 

He was a 6 year old boy. He was back on Jericho VII, watching a bunch of alien monsters moving toward him in front of a scary armored vehicle. He was weak. He was helpless. And he, along with everyone else there, was going to die.

 

The flashback only lasted a moment, but the feeling of overwhelming powerlessness and despair lingered a moment longer. Locke returned to the present.

 

“Orders, boss?” Tanaka asked desperately. A Buzzard passed overhead, obliterating another bit of cover. The scream of a Security Officer was cut off abruptly.

 

_No._ Locke told himself.  _It didn't happen then. It won't happen now._

 

Locke transferred some hacking programs to a pair of data cubes. Tanaka would need them if she was going to access the turret. He shoved them into her hands before grabbing the Spartan Laser and some battery packs off of her back. “Get that fucking thing online!” he shouted. Tanaka nodded, put the cubes into one of her utility pouches, and rushed into Waterloo.

 

The Soldier forces continued advancing. Locke rose out of cover. Enemy fire splashed across his shields. His protection began dropping. 75%. The Laser started beeping. 46%. The Laser began beeping faster. 13%. The Laser achieved a lock.

 

Jameson Locke fired his weapon. The APC erupted in a ball of flames.

 

The blast shook the ground. The fireball seemed to burn itself into Locke's vision. The Soldier infantry that had been walking in front of the vehicle were staggered by the force of the explosion. Locke threw every grenade on his belt into their midst. Delacroix and a few other Officers followed suit. A dozen Soldiers were obliterated in seconds. Several more fell to the defenders' gunfire. The rest ran for cover.

 

Locke hefted the Laser again. It finished venting heat. He aimed it skyward at the approaching Buzzards. The Laser beeped and chimed. Locke fired. Another enemy vehicle died.

 

_Just like last time_ , Locke thought with fierce triumph.

 

His jubilation only lasted a moment. The other gunships soon moved into range and began bombarding the area around Waterloo. The streets and emergency starport became a field of deafening explosions. Meter deep craters were blown into the pavement. Black clouds of debris were thrown into the air, obscuring vision.

 

The side of the building was struck. An entire wing collapsed into the street. Locke dove out of the way, narrowly avoiding being crushed. Soldier infantry began firing on his position. He sprinted to the nearest bit of deployed cover. He counted about 4 defenders left, including Delacroix. He looked skyward, counting at least triple that number of Buzzards circling in on their position.

 

Locke glanced at his Spartan Laser. It had finished venting. He took aim at the sky again. These bastards were NOT taking this building. He wouldn't allow it.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening._

 

16 year old Alex Lawson sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. He had been doing so for hours.

 

This couldn't be happening.

 

The building shook like God had just stomped on it. Half of the ceiling seemed to bulge downward. Everyone below it rushed to move to the other side of the room.

 

Alex was just a kid. He didn't know how to fight. He thought the War was supposed to be over. Besides, wasn't Meridian a backwater? Why would anyone come here? This didn't make any sense!

 

More time passed. Alex kept rocking back and forth.

 

The building shook again. If anything, it seemed worse than last time. Alex could distantly hear children crying.

 

Gunfire erupted nearby. Someone screamed. Alex looked up just in time to see one of the cops get blown in half. One of the monster-soldiers stepped into the room. Then another. They aimed their guns at the people.

 

The monsters opened fire.

 

Without moving from their place in front of the door, the monster-soldiers gunned down dozens of colonists. Their weapons cut through people and kept going, not stopping until they hit the wall on the other side of the room. Alex watched, transfixed. This was it. This was the end.

 

Then, something amazing happened. No, not amazing. Ridiculous. If someone had told him this happened to them, Alex would have called bullshit in a second. Yet, it was happening right in front of him.

 

Red Raven—the superhero!—rushed into the room and knocked one of the monsters to the ground. She rushed at the other one, knocking its gun aside, and grabbed it by the neck. She twisted it around, putting the monster between it and the first one, who had gotten back to its feet. Monster #1 was either very slow or didn't like its buddy much, because it opened fire anyway. Red Raven shoved her foe towards their attacker. The former hostage exploded, knocking Monster #1 off its feet again.

 

Before Monster #1 could get up again, Red Raven jumped on him. She knocked the weapon out of its hands. She drew a combat knife and slammed it into the monster's visor. Before her enemy could explode, she withdrew her blade and summoned her signature Spirit Shield. The Shield weathered the blast flawlessly.

 

Red Raven lowered her shield and looked at Alex, who had unconsciously gotten to his feet. She looked just like she did in the comics. She was huge, at least 2 meters tall. Her armor was dark blue and looked like it could take a tank shell without scratching. And, of course, there was the red raven painted on the chest-piece. She walked over to the dead cop, took his rifle, and shoved it into the hands of the shocked teenager. “Congratulations, kid, you've been deputized,” she said. She rushed out of the room at superhuman speed.

 

Alex Lawson looked at the rifle in his hands. He shrugged and moved to take the deceased Officer's position defending the hallway. He figured he must be in a dream, and if that was the case he wasn't going to spend the rest of it crying in the fetal position.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Soldier forces continued to press the attack. The ground around Waterloo had ceased to look like pavement and now resembled the surface of Luna.

 

APCs were now moving in from every direction. The Scorpion was being rocked by a near-continuous stream of fire from the enemy armored vehicles. The tank's weapons were beginning to glow red hot from continuous fire.

 

Only a few of the Security Officers remained. Locke could see Delacroix, ballsy as ever, firing away from behind cover a few meters away.

 

All the while, the enemy gunships circled overhead like the scavengers they were named after. The Spartan Laser lay discarded by Locke's feet. He had run out of battery packs.

 

The few surviving defenders were huddled within the last piece of cover. Locke had wrenched the ends of the cover into a U shape, forcing the fused-shut hinges to move, thereby providing at least some protection from the enemies that were closing in from all sides.

 

There was no longer even the option to fall back inside the building. They would be cut down almost instantly if they tried. More of the pavement in front of their position erupted. Locke looked up to see the gunships lining up for a strafing run. It seemed they had finally gotten organized. There was no way the human forces could survive a coordinated strike. The Buzzards entered their attack run. Light gathered at the ends of their cannons.

 

Suddenly, one of the Buzzards exploded. Then, another. Within seconds, every enemy gunship within a kilometer had been blown out of the sky. Locke glanced at the roof of the building just in time to see the AA battery fall dormant once again. It seemed the generator had held out just long enough to do its job.

 

Had things been going better on the ground, a cheer might have gone out. Unfortunately, all of the humans were busy fighting for their lives.

 

Delacroix fell down at Locke's feet. A hole had been burned in the center of his chest. His eyes stared up at Locke, unseeing, devoid of expression. Of life. Locke pulled off the man's helmet and closed his eyes.

 

Another of the Security Officers fell on his ass behind cover, dropping his weapon and clutching his head. He began crying and screaming. His voice was drowned out by the cacophony of battle around them. Locke would have been pissed, but honestly at this point he couldn't blame the poor kid.

 

_This must be what the end of the world looks like,_ Locke reflected, firing blind over his cover.  _C'mon, Buck, we're counting on you._

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Spartan Edward Buck entered the office of the late Administrator Adomar. If the files he had scanned earlier in the week were any indication, this was the place he would be able to activate the colony's defenses. He moved to the computer console on the man's desk and pressed the power button experimentally.

 

To his surprised delight, the computer turned on. It seemed power was still working in the now-derelict colony ship. Whoever designed this baby deserved a raise.

 

Before he could input the programs that would authorize the activation of the fusion reactor and the defense grid, a squad of 3 Soldiers entered the room. Thankfully, Buck had left his cloak on. All he had to do was use his silenced SMG to eliminate these hostiles. While making sure not to damage the computer in the process, of course. Piece of cake.

 

Buck's stealth tech shorted out.

 

The Soldiers turned and looked directly at the now very visible human. There was a pause.

 

Abruptly, the pause ended. The Soldiers opened fire. Buck dove to the side. Normally, he would have ducked behind the desk. The shots would have gone straight through the thin metal, of course, but it would offer some concealment, which was better than nothing. Unfortunately, he couldn't risk damage to the computer system.

 

Thinking on his feet, Buck rushed over to the expensive looking couch on the wall opposite the administrator's desk. He used his augmented strength to fling it across the room with one hand. The Soldiers bashed it aside. However, it did buy Buck enough time to unload on one of the Soldiers. It exploded as expected. In the close quarters, the remaining 2 enemies suffered some damage to their armor.

 

Unfortunately, it was not enough to destroy either of them. Both Soldiers unloaded their weapons on the exposed Spartan. Bucks shield dropped...and failed.

 

Gunfire erupted from the waiting room just outside the office. Showing their characteristic lack of discipline, both Soldiers whirled towards the new threat without finishing Buck off. They each fired once. There was a scream.

 

Buck emptied the last of his magazine into 1 of the remaining Soldiers. Showing remarkable instincts considering its brethren's behavior, the lone remaining Soldier dove out of the way before it could be damaged by the blast. Lacking time to reload, Buck drew his combat knife and rushed his foe.

 

Perhaps also needing to reload, the Soldier discarded its own weapon. It evaded Buck's slash. Rather than drawing its own blade, it swiped at Buck with its hand. Buck dodged. The tips of the Soldier's fingers sheared through the bulkhead like copy paper.

 

_Huh. They've got talons on those things,_ Buck thought.

 

The battle was joined. Both combatants fought furiously, one driven by malevolent programming, the other by duty and survival.

 

The computer console glowed silently in the background.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The last of the Security Officers fell dead at Locke's feet. All of the men he had begun this fight commanding, and the reinforcements Singh had brought, were now gone.

 

Locke feared Buck had failed.

 

Vale was lying unconscious inside the building.

 

Tanaka seemed to be firing away from the roof with her SAW, but with the sheer numbers they were facing, it didn't even stem the tide.

 

The Scorpion was clearly on its last legs. Its rate of fire had dropped noticeably in the last few minutes. Heat rose in waves off of the barrels of both its main gun and its machine gun. It was only a matter of time before they both failed and the Scorpion was overrun. If the enemy units coming from the other direction didn't decide to swarm it first, that is.

 

This was it. The end. Locke had to admit, it was a lot more noble a death than he ever expected to get.

 

It was doubtful anyone would remember him, of course, or even hear about what had happened here. ONI would destroy any record of his working for them other than those locked deep within the _Point of No Return_ itself. He doubted Captain Lasky or any of the other Spartan IVs would mourn him. The events on Meridian Station would probably be viewed as an embarrassment by those in Command, so they'd bury that, too.

 

Enemy fire began wearing away at the last of his cover. The dense metal began to melt around him. Enemy shots started to punch through, the cover finally worn down enough to be rendered inert.

 

Ah, well. He'd had a good run. Locke inserted his last magazine into his Battle Rifle. He braced himself in his crouch.

 

Jameson Locke leaped out of cover with a roar, unloading his Battle Rifle on his enemies. It would only take moments for him to be cut down.

 

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Locke failed to die.

 

It took him a moment to realize what was happening. It seemed at first like the entire world was catching fire around him. A cataclysmic noise overwhelmed his helmet's sensors; the equipment completely shut out all sound to protect his hearing. His visor polarized to the point where he could barely see the world around him; the light had jumped in intensity so much that it would almost certainly have blinded him had he been unprotected.

 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Locke realized what was happening.

 

The Soldiers were dying en masse.

 

Infantry were being converted into improvised funeral pyres by the dozen. APCs were exploding in a solid line up the street away from Waterloo. It was as if God Himself were striking dead the enemies of his prized creation. All enemy fire ceased.

 

Locke directed his gaze to the rooftops. Turrets all over the city were active. He could see Buzzards in the distance flash and burn out of the sky. Having eliminated all airborne targets, the laser turrets decreased the intensity of their shots and directed their fire toward the enemies on the ground. They joined their fire with the dedicated anti-infantry turrets.

 

The city cast an orange glow into the night sky. It seemed like the city was truly on fire now. It finally looked like what sacked cities were supposed to look like.

 

In a matter of minutes, the noise began to die down. A few minutes after that, it died entirely.

 

A silence descended upon Meridian Station that was almost as deafening as the battle had been. The only noises came from the settling rubble and the pops and cracks from the Scorpion's overheated weapons.

 

For the longest time, Locke just stood in awe. It was too much to process. He could barely comprehend the fact that he was still alive. Finally, his mind recovered enough for a single idea to spring into his consciousness.

 

_When this is over,_ he thought,  _I'm going to buy Buck a beer._

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Spartan Buck sheathed his combat knife and reloaded his SMG. Judging by the readings he was getting on the computer, the plan had worked. The turrets were active. Time to get back to Waterloo.

 

He glanced one last time at the scorch mark on the wall that marked the death of his latest enemy. The melee had been brutal, but Buck had come out the winner. He felt slightly better about losing to the member of Blue Team earlier in the night.

 

As he exited the administrator's office, he came upon a new body. It seemed he found the backup that had saved his ass at the last minute. It was a woman. Average build and height. She was clutching a pistol in her hands. It took Buck a moment to recognize the secretary that Locke had bullied when they first arrived. What was her name?

 

Buck searched her pockets and removed her employee ID. 'Maria Belmonte'. He stowed the ID in his pack. She didn't have dog tags to police, so he'd make due with this. Remembering her was the least he could do.

 

Had she deliberately come to his rescue? Had she even known there was a human in that office? Or had she merely been attacking in a mindless panic? Buck would never know. The fact that she survived as long as she had seemed to indicate nerves of steel. That, or incredible luck.

 

Spartan Buck pushed those thoughts to the side. They would join the ever-expanding group of questions, doubts, and regrets that had been accumulating for his entire career. Eventually, they would probably give him an ulcer.

 

He'd just have to get the UNSC to clone him a new stomach when that happened. It was in the benefits package.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“I thought you said you hadn't been trained for that thing, sergeant,” Buck teased as he approached the now deactivated Scorpion. Singh had joined Locke, Tanaka, and Vale around what remained of Waterloo's defenses. Given how little that was, and how beat up and exhausted his teammates looked, Buck guessed he'd missed quite the fight.

 

“Well, let's just say I took a bit more of an interest in the Station's biggest toy than I let on,” Sgt. Singh replied with a grin. Buck smiled as well; he wouldn't have been able to resist playing with the thing, either.

 

Singh's eyes didn't quite match his smile. It probably had something to do with the dead Security Officers littered around the battlefield. Buck chuckled politely at the sergeant's joke. He was familiar with using humor to mask pain.

 

“How did the city look on your way back, Osiris Three?” Locke asked.

 

Buck grimaced behind his visor. “About as bad as here, actually. The Soldiers going boom makes for a pretty show, but it played hell on the already beat up architecture. Honestly, I'm surprised the entire place hasn't collapsed around us.”

 

The group grew somber as they examined the ruined city once again. Barely any of the buildings were intact. Most of the streets were cluttered with rubble, if not blocked off entirely. Scorch marks had turned all of the intact pavement they could see into a patchwork of black soot and cracked ground. Many of the buildings that supported turrets on their roofs had collapsed from the force of the Soldiers' demise. From what they could tell, there were maybe a quarter of the total number still in operation. There was no telling what or how many Soldier forces had managed to escape the culling.

 

“How long until that fleet of yours shows up, again?” Singh asked, a bit nervous. Locke checked his visor.

 

“About an hour,” he replied. Shit, had the battle only taken that long? It felt like a whole week could have passed since he had last thought about the time.

 

The ground began to shake. Before anyone could even wonder what was happening, an earthquake rocked the entire city.

 

What remained of the streets fractured. Chasms split open and cliffs were thrust up as if a new mountain range was forming all around them. Buildings collapsed left and right. A massive cloud of dust and debris was stirred up, covering the entire Station in an impenetrable fog of war. All of the surviving defenders were knocked off of their feet.

 

After a while, the shaking stopped. The dust settled. The defenders cautiously stood up, their weapons at the ready. Locke glanced at the remaining rooftops.

 

_Oh, no..._

 

What few turrets survived were inert. The backup power grid must have been destroyed. Hell, the reactor itself may have been damaged. They could be moments away from a catastrophic radiation leak.

 

“Get ready to move out, people!” Locke shouted to his subordinates. “Our timetable just got a lot shorter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first stage of the battle for Meridian draws to a close. Tune in next time to see the climactic conclusion. I'll try to get it out sometime next week. Probably Monday or Wednesday.
> 
> Note: Bet you didn't think I'd do anything with the whole 'Tanaka's armor was based on a superhero' thing, did you? Another thing I've been waiting SO long to be able to pay off.
> 
> Note: This is my first attempt to depict a war scene, rather than a fight scene. Feedback?
> 
> Note: I tried to lampshade the Soldiers' behavior not making any sense. This is due to 2 reasons: 1. My alternate explanation for their origins, which I'll reveal later in the story. 2. It gives me a lot of leeway in terms of what I have them do. Normal soldiers would have annihilated the heroes pretty early on with standard tactics.
> 
> Note: I was happy to see readers really disliking Locke early on. He started out this fic as a villain, after all, and I was relieved to learn that I successfully conveyed that. However, I also want him to be redeemable. I won't spoil my plans for the end of his character arc, but let's just say that the events of Meridian will play a huge roll in the future for Jameson Locke.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The sun rose over the ravaged world of Meridian. On the planet's surface, the few remaining humans worked on their survival plan.

Spartan Locke examined the forces arrayed before him. They were considerably less than those he had had several hours before. And that had already been a shit hand.

There were 3 Spartan IV super-soldiers. 4, if he included himself. Locke himself had held up reasonably well. The most he had to worry about was the mounting exhaustion. The rest were not so fortunate. 1 of the 3 was almost completely incapacitated. Vale wouldn't be much good other than as a stationary gun on whatever vehicles they managed to scrounge up. This was assuming she even managed to stay conscious, a definite 'if' given her heavy injuries. Another of the 3, Tanaka, was not as heavily injured, but was starting to feel what injuries she did have. He'd have to use her economically. The last of them, Buck, was the best of all of them as he had managed to avoid much of the fighting due to his stealth expertise. Said expertise was diminished by the breaking down and subsequent non-functionality of his stealth tech; not that a stealth expert would be particularly useful in the rushing convoy Locke had planned. He had seen the obliterated starport during their Pelican's approach to the city. They would have to leave via ground vehicles.

This was all on top of their dwindling ammunition. Almost none of the depleted uranium rounds remained. They'd have to use the considerably less effective standard rounds for the majority of any fighting.

The Security Force was almost completely wiped out. All that remained were Sgt. Singh and his Scorpion tank. Unfortunately, said tank's machine gun had failed. Its barrel had been warped by overheating, and any spare parts had been left behind in the officer's Security Station...which Singh and his men had set to blow in order to take out as many of the Soldiers as they could. Luckily, the main gun was still working, although even that might fail if it overheated again. None of the Officer infantry remained; if they wanted armed backup, they would have to conscript civilians. Fantastic.

At least most of the Soldiers were wiped out by the turrets, Locke thought optimisticly. He was unable to convince the cynical part of him that had been nurtured by years of service to ONI.

The plan was simple. They would evacuate all of the surviving humans on Meridian to the colony's space elevator. Once there, they would take the carriage to the cargo freighters still docked in the elevator's orbital end. The ships would not have enough air or provisions to get them to the nearest inhabited system, but they would at least get the civilians out of the line of fire until they could be recovered by the Infinity. Hopefully, any surviving Soldier ships would not bother to pursue the ad hoc lifeboats.

They weren't even out of the planning phase before they ran into their first hurdle.

“Shit,” Tanaka said, eloquently giving voice to the entire group's reaction. The Security Vehicles that Singh's men had arrived in were almost completely destroyed. The Soldiers' often poor aim, while beneficial for Waterloo's defenders, tended to cause quite a bit of collateral damage.

“We probably wouldn't have been able to get them through the streets anyway,” Buck said, gesturing to the ravaged network of roads. It looked like they would be making their escape on foot. The day just kept getting better and better.

Locke turned to Sgt. Singh. “Are there any other vehicles that might have survived the battle?”

Singh thought for a moment. His eyes widened as a thought seemed to occur to him. “There's a bunch of survey vehicles parked just inside the exterior gate. They might have made it. Doubt we could fit everyone on 'em, but there's some trailers we could hook onto 'em,” he explained.

Locke thought back to Osiris' entry into the city several hours prior. It was possible that he simply hadn't noticed the vehicles on their way in; he had been rather occupied with other matters at the time. He did remember that there hadn't been a rear guard to secure the only ground level entrance to the city. Perhaps the Soldiers had ignored the hardware in their rush to get to the slaughter. It would fit their lack of discipline and professionalism. Locke accessed the recordings in his MJOLNIR armor's databanks. Reviewing the visual feed of their entrance, he saw that there were indeed several untouched vehicles right next to the destroyed gate. Things were looking up.

“We need to get the people ready to move,” Locke said the the group. “Sergeant, I need you to talk to the civilians. Get them organized for an evacuation. Find out what they need and convince them to leave what they don't. Understood?”

“Got it,” Singh replied.

“Spartan Tanaka,” Locke continued, “I need you to round up some conscripts. Gather what weapons are left and arm whoever looks like they're still sane enough to be of use.”

“On it, boss,” Tanaka replied, sounding about as enthusiastic as Locke felt. Having a bunch of armed, untrained amateurs running around a battlefield was not exactly something any professional soldier would be happy about. Still, they were out of options.

“Buck, keep an eye on Vale. Update me if her condition worsens,” Locke concluded.

Vale frowned weakly. “I'm good to go, sir. I may not be up for much, but I don't need babysitting.”

Locke immediately shot her down. “I appreciate the bravado, Spartan, but even you can only take so much. You need to pace yourself if you're going to be of use to anyone.” Vale still looked unhappy about the situation, but she nodded in submission.

The group dispersed to attend to their duties. A thought forced its way into Locke's mind.

“Sergeant, wait up. I'll come with you.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jameson Locke was about to do something very stupid.

During his training for service under the Office of Naval Intelligence Locke had been instructed in the need to avoid attachment. He couldn't afford to humanize those who would be directly affected by his actions. Locke believed in what he did. He believed that doing horrible things was often necessary for the greater good.

But he was still human.

He still had some vestiges of a conscience buried somewhere within him. If he allowed himself to develop a picture in his head for everyone who had ever suffered due to his intervention, he would burn out in a matter of weeks. Thus, observing first hand the people who had suffered due to his following orders was a definite no-no. He should be avoiding as much direct contact with them as possible.

Yet, here he was, following Sgt. Singh into Waterloo to see what remained of the civilian population of Meridian.

It was as ugly a sight as he imagined. Dirty, desperate people were huddled together throughout the former dining area. He could see desperation, fear, and exhaustion waging their own inner war within the eyes of every man and woman present. A lot of them were wounded. The most severely injured were being tended to by the medic Sgt. Singh had brought with him. Apparently, none of the actual doctors had survived the Soldiers' attack. He was doing the best he could, but Locke could tell that the lack of a true medical professional was hurting bad.

Why the hell did I come in here? Locke asked himself. He didn't have an answer for that any more than he had one for why he was currently walking toward the dead bodies piled against one of the walls. The 2 Soldiers that had penetrated the building had done quite a bit of damage before Tanaka managed to eliminate them. There hadn't been any body bags, or even sheets to cover the corpses, so they were all just left there to rot in full view of everyone. That must have been detrimental to morale.

There was a strange bit of debris lying next to the pile. Driven by an inexplicable curiosity, he walked over and picked it up. It was humanoid. Probably an action figure. It had been badly burned. Half of its surface was charred and partially melted. Turning it over in his hand, Locke couldn't help but think it seemed familiar. Where could he have seen it before...

Oh, God...no...

Locke looked at the pile. He saw the body the figure had been lying next to. It was far too small to be an adult. Locke knelt down and gently pulled back the coat that had been draped over its torso.

Aiko...

Abruptly, he placed the coat back over the corpse, stood up, and walked away. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he acting so...so...unprofessionally? He had seen thousands of civilians die over the course of the Human-Covenant War, both on screens and in person. This wasn't the first time that people had died due to his actions, either. Why did this feel so different?

Locke walked swiftly back out of the building. He put the ruined action figure in one of his equipment pouches without realizing it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Holly Tanaka was doing as well as Locke had hoped. The able-bodied and well-of-mind colonists followed her instructions adequately. They held the Assault Rifles that had belonged to the deceased Security Officers as she instructed. They practiced some basic tactics. They didn't even put up much of a fight at being drafted. He noticed one colonist in particular stand up straighter when she indicated approval at his performance.

It seemed having an Outer Colony background helped in getting them to trust her. That, or there was some kind of subconscious response to her superhero garb. Maybe whatever cultural and psychological aspects that the character represented was being appealed to by the Spartan IV. Whatever the case, things were going relatively well.

Buck returned from his scouting run. He shook his head at Locke. He had been unable to locate any other survivors. The seemingly coordinated final attack on Waterloo had probably been the result of the disparate Soldier forces running out of other humans to kill. Locke swore silently.

The exodus began. Buck scouted ahead to find alternate routes when their way was blocked by rubble. The map stored within the Spartans' armor was useless. Even those who had lived there could barely recognize anything as they moved out. No one talked during the journey. The survivors either had a somber mood or simply hadn't yet processed that their home was gone. Even if the UEG held the planet, the Station would have to be rebuilt from scratch. Assuming the Senate approved of rebuilding, of course. They might just decide to write off the whole enterprise. Meridian would remain forever dead, regardless of the colonists' labors.

They picked their way around mounds of rubble, some having to carry the more heavily injured. The numerous improvised stretchers slowed down their progress even more. Fortunately, there were no Soldier attacks during the journey to the gate. If any of their enemy had survived, it seemed they were still wary of the Station's now inert defenses.

The vehicles were right where they had been the night before. Locke ordered the more mechanically inclined colonists to assist him in inspecting and preparing the vehicles. He had no interest in taking an unnecessary risks with this already crazy idea. It seemed they were all in full working order. Locke was encouraged by the size and durability of their tires. They should be able to traverse rough terrain fairly easily in these. Given the earthquakes, they would probably be encountering some obstacles.

Locke ordered the colonists to fill the vehicles' tanks with their hydrogen fuel. They would be using 3 vehicles, each of which would pull a trailer behind it. The relatively able-bodied civilians would climb into the 2 trailers shaped like enormous bins; the high sides would protect them from debris, if nothing else. Those too infirm to climb up would be placed on the final trailer, which was a flat-bed shape with large, ultra-strong straps to hold down equipment. The straps would be used for improvised seat-belts.

Hopefully, if 1 didn't make it, the others would be able to continue on to safety. Locke tried not to think about how empty the trailers looked—how few people had survived.

The conscripted colonists would be divided equally amongst the 3 vehicles. They would be perched on the edges of the occupied trailers. Locke and Buck used cutting torches to weld a few straps and improvised hand-holds for them. Vale insisted on being perched on the rear vehicle. According to her, she could still fight, and she wasn't going to sit this out. Locke eventually acquiesced out of convenience.

Evelyn Collins sat on the edge of 1 bin, helping her fellow colonists climb in. She had initially volunteered for combat duty but Locke had shot her down. She was obviously someone that the civilians trusted. He needed her keeping them calm and following instructions, not manning a rifle.

“C'mon, Miller, let's get ya up,” Collins said, offering a hand to a particularly injured man. Locke's eyes were drawn to him as he noticed that his wounds were partially healed over. He must have been injured sometime before the attack began. Maybe in the riots? However he had been injured, that man wasn't going to be any use in the fighting. He was climbing gingerly, as if moving at all was causing him pain, and he had a bandage over one eye.

The vehicles started and pulled into a single line. Sgt. Singh brought his Scorpion to the front. It had been difficult to get the tank through the shattered city, but the thing's maneuverability had lived up to its model. It's machine gun was still offline, so Tanaka, perched with Locke on the vehicle directly behind the Scorpion, would have to provide cover from any nearby attackers. There was inadequate room in the vehicles' cramped cockpits; the Spartans couldn't even fit inside them, so there they were, clinging to the roofs like birds. The flat-bed was placed in the center of the formation to shield its passengers as much as possible.

“Alright people,” Locke shouted, “Let's move out!”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Comm check, repeat, comm check. Fireteam Osiris, respond,” Locke said.

“Osiris One, solid copy,” Tanaka replied.

“Osiris Two, solid copy,” Vale responded. Her voice was slightly weak, but full of determination.

“Osiris Three, solid copy,” Buck confirmed.

Excellent. It seemed the destruction of the Soldier forces in Meridian Station had eliminated whatever jamming gear had been disrupting communications. A major asset had been restored to them.

The convoy made its way to the orbital elevator. The dirty brown earth of the partially terraformed landscape had looked hideous upon Locke's arrival. Now it proved a nice contrast to the scorched and ruined city. Not that Locke was put at ease. The earthquake had transformed what had been a largely open plane to a maze of hills and cliff faces. Several times the convoy had to reverse direction after coming upon a dead end.

A few kilometers out, the ground started to level off. At about the half-way mark, there was only a few hills blocking sight of the base of the elevator. They even managed to find the mostly intact road leading between Meridian Station and their goal.

“Contact! Contact!”

The conscript's alert came moments before an explosion sounded a few dozen meters behind the rear vehicle. Emerging from the maze of broken earth were several Soldier APCs. Each had a number of Soldier infantry perched atop them. The infantry opened fire on the convoy.

“Petal to the metal, drivers! Get us to that elevator!” Locke ordered via the survey vehicles' dashboard radios. The convoy lurched forward at greater speed. The Spartans clung tighter to their perches atop the survey vehicles, the increased velocity producing a bumpier ride. Locke wished the Liang-Dortmund Company had sprung for better shock absorbers.

The APCs closed the distance. Several of the civilian conscripts opened fire. Locke suppressed a groan of frustration. They were still amateurs, and even trained Marines would have trouble hitting these targets. The Spartans would fair better thanks to their superior vision and reflexes.

The only thing that saved the human escapees was the fact that the APCs aim was as shitty as ever. They couldn't even land a single hit on the large transports.

Perhaps that was why the APCs were closing the distance. They ceased firing their main guns shortly before they pulled up alongside the rear vehicle. The Soldier infantry seemed to ready itself.

They were going to try boarding.

Assault Rifle fire continued to reach out. Some of them even landed, although Locke was inclined to credit those to Spartan Vale. Her armor's biomonitors indicated she was conscious and definitely engaged in high stress activity.

“Osiris Three, move to assist,” Locke ordered.

“Copy, Osiris Lead,” Buck confirmed. The Spartan jumped down from his perch atop the middle vehicle. He jumped onto the flatbed, careful to time his leaps to avoid any of the increasingly alarmed passengers. Upon reaching the end of his assigned vehicle, he leaped up with the assistance of his thrusters. He landed on the roof of the rear vehicle at the same time as the hostile boarders.

Buck surged forward on his thrusters, knocking one of the enemies off. Vale had taught him that trick during training. The Spartan used his boots' magnetic function to stay on the speeding vehicle after landing again.

Weapons fire raced back and forth. Several conscripts were hit. They fell off and were swiftly left behind by the racing vehicles. There would be no going back for them even if they had managed to survive the fall. There was no time.

The Soldiers' clumsy movements made them far less adept at keeping their balance atop the trailer's edges. Recognizing this, Buck and Vale focused their fire to knock the enemy off balance rather than inflict lethal injuries. The APCs did not stop for them, either in a rush like their prey or simply incapable of caring.

Enemy shots downed Vale's shield. One struck the side of her helmet, digging a solid line out of the ceramic-titanium armor plate. Vale groaned in pain. Her injuries, and the emergency aid her armor was supplying, made any more dramatic reactions impossible. Several of Vale's biomonitors ceased functioning. The ones that remained seemed to indicate that the shot had grazed her scalp. She was reduced to lying flat on her back. Despite this, she still managed to fire her Assault Rifle in the direction of the enemy, knocking several off of her transport. Her groan had turned into a growl as she refused to stop fighting.

Locke made a mental note to raise Olympia Vale up a notch on his 'don't fuck with' list.

A shot rang out just before one of the APCs exploded. Sgt. Singh had moved his Scorpion off road. Its turret was pointed directly backward as it continued to speed forward just ahead of the lead vehicle. The tank fired again. Another APC was destroyed.

The remaining enemy vehicles accelerated to engage their armored foe. The canons opened up again. The previous battle had taken its toll on the Scorpion's armor plating. Locke could see black smoke begin to rise out of its rear.

The APCs seemed not to realize that their shots were actually becoming effective. They rushed to pull up alongside the Scorpion. Locke and Tanaka opened fire. Their augmented reflexes allowed them to land a high percentage of their shots considering the difficulty in hitting one speeding vehicle from another. Several Soldier infantry exploded, knocking some of their compatriots off. Unfortunately, most of them managed to cling on as they approached the tank.

The Scorpion's main gun fired again. Another APC was destroyed. There were only 2 left now. It fired again. Only 1 remained. The Scorpion ran out of time. The APC pulled up alongside.

The Spartan IVs desperately focused fire on the Soldier Infantry. Locke loaded the half-empty magazine of depleted uranium rounds he had left over from the battle at Waterloo. They downed several enemies. Tanaka even managed to shoot one of them out of the air with her SAW. The ball of fire from its death rushed past as the vehicles continued forward.

A single Soldier managed to land on the Scorpion. It crawled toward the front of the armored vehicle. Toward the cockpit.

“Sergeant, slow down so we can get a shot!” Locke commed.

“C-copy!” Singh responded.

The Scorpion slowed. It came alongside the lead transport. Locke saw the Soldier slashing away at the cockpit's canopy with its hands. The weakened armor plating was being torn apart. The Soldier grasped the fractured plates and wrenched open a hole into the tank's interior. Singh was now exposed.

Thinking fast, Locke stowed his rifle on his back and used his thrusters to leap across to the armored vehicle. He landed on his hands and knees, using his boots' magnetic functions and his hands' grip to avoid bouncing off. His shield was instantly depleted from the force of the impact. The Scorpion's already damaged armor warped a bit further. The Soldier took notice of him. Locke drew his combat knife. The combatants moved to engage each other.

The melee was desperate. Neither was able to use any fancy tactics. Their attention was divided between trying to strike their enemy and trying not to lose their balance and fall off. Locke could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

Locke tried to swipe at the Soldier's legs. The enemy jumped back, slashing as it went. The Soldier's talons sheared through the outermost layer of his armor plates. The ONI emblem on his chest was partially obliterated.

Unfortunately for the Soldier, its move had left it slightly off balance. Locke pressed his advantage. He leaped forward. He was facing the Scorpion's rear, meaning the strength of his blow was backed up by the weight of his decelerating armor. He slammed into his enemy with the power of a freight train. The Soldier's hard-light armor was instantly depleted. It bounced off the armor plating of the Scorpion and tumbled into the distance behind them. A bright flash signaled its death as it impacted the ground.

“Are you alright, sergeant?” Locke asked over the comms. The wind ripping past them made face-to-face communications impossible despite their close proximity.

“Ah...yeah, I'll be okay,” Singh replied hesitantly. “Might need a new pair of pants, though.”

The final APC started to peel off. Locke guessed it intended to go back to using its main gun.

“Mind taking care of our last uninvited guest?” Locke asked.

“My pleasure,” Singh replied with relish.

As soon as the APC was within its effective range, the Scorpion opened fire. The enemy vehicle disappeared in a blast of flames. Locke grinned. The field was clear. They were off to the elevator.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“We've got a bridge coming up,” the pilot of the lead vehicle commed. Locke turned forward. Indeed, there was a relatively short bridge spanning a chasm in their way. It looked like one of the portable bridge laying systems that the UNSC often deployed to allow its land vehicles to cross obstructions. As they got closer, he realized that it was simply a very basic, cheap looking bit of infrastructure. How many corners did Liang-Dortmund cut on this shithole of a colony?

Looking around, he realized that they would have to go several kilometers out of their way to avoid crossing the rickety piece of junk. They didn't have that kind of time.

“Osiris Lead to convoy, begin slowing down. I want only a single vehicle on that bridge at a time. Copy?”

The drivers were hesitant. “Uh, are you sure about that, sir?” one asked.

“That bridge had been there for a while. I'm sure it can take it,” another insisted, clearly still shaken up by the attack.

The driver of the rear vehicle was the worst, all but shouting, “I don't know about y'all, but I'm not stoppin' until we get someplace safe.”

Goddamn Outie children! Locke shouted in his head. The bridge was coming up fast. He had no time for more of this Outer Colonist stubbornness. These people needed to follow orders. Now.

“You will all slow to a stop before that bridge or I will personally shoot each one of you when we get to that elevator and send your dead bodies up instead!” Locke barked into the comms. “'No man left behind' sometimes means going back for corpses, you understand me?!” There was a silence in response.

“Much as I hate to agree with the asshole, I think y'all better listen to him here,” Tanaka butted in. “He may be a bit of a rude shit, but he knows his stuff.” There was another silence. Locke was about to open a private comm channel to chew out his subordinate when the drivers replied.

“Copy, vehicle one slowing down.”

“Copy, vehicle two slowing down.”

“Copy, vehicle three slowing down.”

The vehicles gradually decreased in velocity. They coasted to a stop about 5 meters from the bridge. Locke decided to put off any lectures until later. Things still needed to get done.

“Sergeant, take us over,” Locke ordered. If the bridge collapsed under them, at least the other vehicles would be able to go around. Plus, seeing him take the lead might improve the disgrace that was their unit cohesion.

The Scorpion rumbled forward. Locke could hear the bridge groan under the weight. It sounded like it was well on its way to collapse. Had the earthquake weakened it somehow? Or had the company simply been too cheap to pay for adequate construction? After what seemed like an eternity, the tank reached the other side. Sgt. Singh moved it to the side of the road to allow the transports to go through.

“Alright, Vehicle One, move forward,” Locke ordered.

The lead vehicle rolled onto the bridge. It was hopefully his imagination, but Locke would swear he could see the bridge bend under the weight. Yeah. Going one at a time had definitely been the right call. Thankfully, it made the journey across without any catastrophe. Locke breathed a sigh of relief, careful not to transmit the noise.

“Vehicle Two, your turn,” he commed.

The second vehicle moved forward. It also made the trip largely without incident.

Locke was about to order the third transport forward when Buck opened a private comm channel to his team leader. “Contact rear, contact rear!”

Locke turned his attention from the transports to the distance behind them.

Oh, shit.

A number of Soldier APCs had emerged from the maze of broken earth surrounding Meridian Station. He counted at least 20 of the damn things. Where did these freaks keep coming from?

“Vehicle Three, move forward,” Locke ordered. They needed to move fast. The Spartan IV cursed how under-equipped his fireteam was. If there was just some way to blow this bridge they could have delayed the enemy substantially. Sadly, they lacked anything resembling demolition charges.

The last of the transports moved forward. Just as it began its crossing, things went from bad to worse.

The ground behind the transport exploded.

A flash of light obscured his vision, followed by a cloud of silicates and debris. A trio of Buzzard gunships screamed by overhead. The sky above Locke was briefly turned blue by the trails of their propulsion discs. The rear of the transport was thrown into the air. The entire thing crashed onto its side partway over the chasm. Several colonists fell off the bin into the empty space below. Their screams echoed off the silicate walls.

The ground supporting the rear side of the bridge was obliterated. The bridge's end crashed downward into the crater the shot left behind. The whole thing was precariously perched on the edge of the chasm. It would only be a matter of time before the bridge collapsed entirely.

The Scorpion's turret swiveled to track the new hostiles. The advanced targeting algorithms pinpointed one of the aircraft. The tank fired once. One of the fucking things was blown out of the sky.

“Osiris Two, Osiris Three, check in!” Locke shouted over the comms. He jumped off the tank and began rushing toward the wrecked transport. Vale's biomonitors were now completely offline. He had no clue how she was holding up. She could be dead for all he knew.

There was a delay that seemed to last a lifetime. “Osiris Three, I'm alright,” Buck replied. “I can see Vale lying on the bridge a bit away from me.” There was another pause. “She's not moving, sir.” Locke swore internally.

“Osiris One, moving to assist,” Tanaka commed over the fireteam's frequency, getting ready to leap down from her perch on the lead transport.

“Denied, Osiris One,” Locke responded. “I need you defending the lead vehicles. I'll move to assist.” They couldn't just leave those in front undefended. Besides, Tanaka was still dealing with significant injuries. They couldn't risk her slowing them down. His subordinate confirmed his order, her displeasure clear in her voice.

Locke reached his end of the bridge. It was sticking up into the air, a result of the far end having fallen down several meters. He leaped up onto the deteriorating structure and looked into the distance. The APCs were getting closer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Yao Miller crawled under the survey vehicle. His leg throbbed in pain. Looking down, he could see a bit of bone sticking out.

Just my fucking luck, he thought with a scowl.

He looked out from his hiding place. What few of his fellow colonists remained were running, hobbling, or being carried to the other end of the bridge. To safety. He could see one of the UNSC pawns, the Spartans, carrying another of his buddies to the other side. Looked like the red one was in pretty bad shape.

Join the fucking club.

Several of the colonists looked back toward Meridian Station. Miller fought back tears as he thought of the city that had been his home for the last few years. He may have been a miserable shit, but he had still grown attached to the place. He had even made some friends there.

Now all of that was gone. His friends were all dead. His place was wrecked. His city was ruined. All gone. He was an orphan again.

The colonists who looked back got a freaked out look on their faces. Well, a more freaked out look, anyway. Miller looked and saw what had scared them. A whole shit-ton of those freaky cars were gunning straight for them. There were dozens of the fucking things. There was no way they'd be able to escape them all.

Miller was about to crawl out and try to make his way across the bridge when he noticed what part of the vehicle he was lying under. The hydrogen tank. He had an idea.

The Prospector and former engineering prodigy worked furiously. He grabbed what tools he had in his pockets. He had forgotten to take off his work clothes when he went to bed the night before. His drunken bender had been forgotten in all of the chaos. Maybe they should sell genocide as a hangover cure. God knew there was enough of it going around to be able to mass market it.

The world seemed to shrink around him. Miller lost himself in his work. He hadn't been so focused in years. He applied skills he hadn't used for even longer. Knowledge he had tried to bury and forget, but had never quite left the deepest parts of his mind. Finally, his work was done. He looked back out from his workspace.

The tank was firing again. Miller saw one of those gunship things blow up midair. That only left one more.

The last gunship fired. Its shot hit dead on, for once. The tank belched black smoke and flames. The turret sank down to aim at the ground. Miller didn't know shit about tanks, but even he could tell it was dead.

Singh had been driving that thing. Miller hadn't like the stuck-up prick, but the guy had always been straight with him. He didn't deserve to go out like that.

The last gunship swung around. It hovered over the bridge and turned to the convoy. Light collected on the end of its gun.

A green ball flew out from the colonists. It struck the gunship. The thing seemed to lose control. The blue glow around its disc-things blinked out. The glow came back after a second, but it looked like whatever was piloting the thing didn't have control yet. It flew sideways down into the canyon at top speed. There was a loud bang as it struck something and blew up. The bridge shook. Miller almost had a heart attack as he looked back at his delicate work.

The ground on the other side of the bridge started blowing up. Miller looked back towards Meridian Station. The armored car things were firing on them. Looking back, he could see the last of the colonists get loaded onto the flatbed. The lead vehicle had already left. They had forgotten about him.

Miller could have called out. He could have climbed onto the survey vehicle and waved for help. Some of the Spartans seemed like they were noble enough that they might actually try to save him.

As he glanced back at the cars again, he realized there was no time. They were right on the other side of the bridge. The Soldiers themselves had jumped off and were coming across, firing as they went. Miller could see some of their 'feet' as they moved past his workspace. If the Spartans came back for him, they would probably all die. Hell, they might all die anyway. He looked back at his latest project.

A thought occurred to the former Insurrectionist bomber. He chuckled in cynical relief.

“It fuckin' figures,” Miller said, detonating the suicide bomb.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Enemy fire whizzed past Locke's ear. His shield flared as it was grazed by the energy rounds. Locke fell to one knee and fired on the enemy. They were starting to come across the bridge. Any moment now, their shots would strike Vehicle Two and disable it. Not to mention the APC rounds, which were getting closer to striking their mark.

Vehicle Three exploded. An enormous ball of flames burst out and rose into the sky, trailing a cloud of black smoke. The Soldiers nearest to the blast instantly burst into their own, smaller detonations. The already weakened bridge finally broke apart from the strain. The pieces fell into the chasm below, burying whatever remained of the Buzzard.

The fuel tank must have ruptured, Locke thought with relief. Finally, some luck.

He joined Buck on the survey vehicle and ordered the driver to get moving. It didn't take much convincing. Shots from the APCs were still exploding all around them.

They left the Scorpion to burn where it sat. There wasn't time to recover the sergeant's body. At least he'd gone out fighting...

Locke glanced back at the flatbed. Vale had been secured along with the other injured colonists and survivors of Vehicle Three. She had lost consciousness on the bridge. Locke had managed to reboot what few biomonitors remained in her suit. She would need medical help as soon as possible if she was to have any hope of survival.

“How's Vale's sidearm looking?” Locke asked Buck. All Spartan IVs were expert marksmen, but the former ODST was still the best shot out of all of them. As evidenced by him shooting down a gunship with a goddamn plasma pistol. If there wasn't some kind of award for that, there needed to be.

“Burned out,” Buck replied. Locke bit back a curse. He had known it would probably fail, but he had still hoped to get a bit more use out of the thing. They were really starting to hurt for ammo.

“Osiris One, we have reached the elevator. Beginning loading of civilians now,” Tanaka said over the comms. Excellent.

“Copy, Osiris One. Osiris Lead, on our way. ETA 5 minutes,” Locke responded. Splitting their forces had been a tough decision, but at least now they were virtually guaranteed to get some of the civilians to safety.

They arrived at the elevator. The civilians from Vehicle One had already been loaded onto the carriage. Buck picked up Vale and carried her as fast as he could to place her amongst the evacuees. He had just returned to help the rest of the civilians board when the carriage shot up the stalk.

“Osiris One, what the hell do you think you're doing?!” Locke shouted over the comms. Tanaka had been aboard the elevator.

“I'm sorry, boss! I don't know what happened,” Tanaka responded. “One of the colonists must have hit the wrong button or something.”

“Can you bring it back?” he demanded.

There was a pause on the line. “Don't think so. None of us are familiar with these systems,” she replied.

A series of particularly vulgar expletives made their way across Locke's mind. He could almost certainly override the controls with his hacking programs. However, in the time it would take to access the system, override the upward trip, and get the elevator to safely decelerate and return, the colonists already inside could have just unloaded themselves at the orbital end. It looked like they were stuck waiting.

There was little hope that the Soldier forces wouldn't arrive before they could evacuate. Even if they didn't, they couldn't risk the enemy sabotaging the base of the stalk. If the emergency brakes were tripped, anyone inside the carriage would be killed by the whiplash. Not to mention the threat of the whole stalk braking off. Locke analyzed their environment.

The area immediately around the base of the stalk was a raised platform that the pieces of moving equipment were meant to deposit their cargo containers onto. Beyond that was a relatively flat, open space, surrounded by silicate cliff faces surrounding the entire area. Why the company hadn't cleared them away was anyone's guess. Maybe they had predicted the need to defend the elevator from one of the seemingly endless militant threats humanity faced in this galaxy. It would be a refreshing bit of foresight considering the FUBAR nature of the rest of the colony.

There were cargo containers full of silicates stacked to one side of the loading area, along with cranes and power loaders to maneuver them into the carriage. Multiple transports, so huge they dwarfed the survey vehicles the survivors rode on, were parked nearby. If Sloan were still active they would probably already be on their way out to collect more cargo from the mining pits. There was a small office building to one side, presumably to process new arrivals. About 20 meters from the elevator was a stone obelisk, about 10 meters tall and 2 meters thick, that Locke supposed was a monument to commemorate the colony's founding. Further away from the stalk there was a bottleneck where the road was surrounded by steep cliffs. The space between the cliffs was huge, of course, but it would still condense their targets if they were stupid enough to assault the place head on.

Given their previous lack of intelligent tactics, Locke was betting their enemy would do just that. Besides, if the Soldiers did anything else they were all fucked.

Going over the area again, Locke noticed a relatively small building set directly next to the office building. It had the Meridian Security title painted on the front. The sign was badly faded, worn down by sunlight, silicates, and neglect.

“Osiris Three, check that building for supplies,” Locke commed. To his relief, they found an entire armory's worth of ammunition. At least they'd be supplied.

Locke turned to the civilian they had placed in charge of the conscripts, a 'Dmitri Ivanov'. The man was missing an arm, meaning he could only use a sidearm, but his experience as a Marine had been invaluable in getting the citizen soldiers organized. “Set up a perimeter. Keep watch for hostile units while we get set up,” Locke ordered. Ivanov nodded and went to perform his duties.

“Osiris Three, think you can figure out how to work one of those power loaders?” Locke asked.

“Sure thing, Osiris Lead. What's the plan?” Buck replied.

“I want to move those cargo containers. We can use them as fortifications.”

The Spartans got to work. Fortunately, they didn't have to worry about resupply or additional friendlies, so they were able to make a solid line of the multi-ton cargo containers blocking the way through the canyon to the base of the stalk. Locke used a crane to lift filled cargo containers from the side of the loading area and drop them roughly in the location they need to be in. Buck then used the power loader to maneuver them into an airtight line. The civilians seemed to calm a bit with the massive barrier between them and danger. Buck then moved a piece of thick sheet metal to form a ramp up to the top of the cargo containers. They would be able to fire on the enemy from an elevated position.

They also created a final fallback point just in front of the elevator itself. It was composed of several bundles of support beams dropped in a solid line.

The civilian conscripts moved forward to take their places on the wall. Locke could hear Ivanov shouting at one of them. “Riley! Pick up the pace! Double time!” The civilian in question scowled. Locke noticed he only did it facing forward, where Ivanov couldn't see. It looked like he had no place on a battlefield. He was clearly an office worker, and an out of shape one at that. He wasn't the only conscript that would have washed out of basic. Still, they were desperate, and it looked like they could hold together well enough.

The defenses were now established. There was no time to do more. The enemy would be upon them soon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Master Chief came to a bend in the cavern he was following. He was within 20 meters of his destination. He had to restrain himself from sprinting. He eased his way around the bend, ever mindful of threats, his eyes scanning the feed from his helmet's enhanced light mode. Then he saw what was there.

The Master Chief rushed to the collapsed cave's end. To Dr. Halsey.

The good doctor was half buried beneath the rubble.

“Doctor, can you hear me?” the Chief asked. He realized that he didn't have a medical scanner on him. It was with Kelly.

Dr. Halsey groaned weakly. “John...is that you?...”

“Yes, doctor, it's me. It's alright. I'll get you out of here,” the Chief assured her. He used his combat knife to chip away at the rubble. He swept aside broken silicates, using his gauntlet as an excavation tool.

When he cleared away enough to see Dr. Halsey's lower half, he stopped. He froze.

No...this can't be happening...not again...

John looked back to Halsey's face, just barely visible within the helmet of her hardsuit.

For perhaps the first time in his life, the Master Chief went into denial. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Not after all this. He focused completely on her face. If he didn't look at the damage, he could convince himself it was survivable. He could convince himself she would be okay...

Halsey was struggling to keep her eyes open. Not that it would do her any good in the near complete darkness. She reached her hand out blindly.

“...John...” she said weakly. John took her hand.

“Doctor...it's...it's going to be okay. It's going to be okay...” He was desperate to believe it himself.

“...John...” she said again, marshaling her strength.

“I'm here.”

“...John...all of you...”

Dr. Halsey smiled.

“...so proud...”

Dr. Halsey closed her eyes.

“Doctor?” the Master Chief asked, his voice filled with fear. “Dr. Halsey?!” he asked again, the fear becoming terror. “Catherine!!” he shouted.

It was no use. Dr. Halsey, his mother, his creator, his guiding light in a galaxy that had let him down...was dead.

John sank to his knees. The storm in his soul raged as his world spun out of control.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Osiris One, status on the elevator,” Locke commed.

“Civvies are just about done offloading. I reckon about 5 minutes until we can send up the last batch,” Tanaka replied from the top of the stalk.

The Soldiers arrived immediately after Tanaka finished her sentence.

Maybe they hacked our comms, Locke thought from his perch atop the wall. That kind of humor would fit their dickhead personalities.

The APCs stopped just before they would have entered the bottleneck. The infantry dropped off of their tops and moved forward. They must have thought the defenders had more tricks up their sleeves. That, or it was another example of the Soldiers' complete lack of logic. Whatever the case, the defenders took full advantage of the tactical mistake. Locke, Buck, and the conscripts lay prone atop the cargo containers, pouring fire into the advancing targets.

Some of the lessons learned in the battle for Meridian Station had clearly died with the Soldiers destroyed there. These replacements clustered together. When one of them died, it weakened the armor of its compatriots.

The Spartans used coordinated precision fire to down individual targets. The explosions of their deaths weakened the group of other Soldiers around it. The conscripts would then fire into said group. More would die. Eventually, that particular chain reaction would die out. The defenders would then repeat the cycle on another cluster of attackers.

The APCs started opening fire from their position beyond the bottleneck. Some rounds impacted the cliffs on the other side of the defenders. Some hit the advancing infantry. Some, however, made there way through. The ground just before the wall was struck several times. Mixtures of dark brown earth and dirty black silicates were thrown into the air. Luckily, the conscripts were wearing helmets scavenged from the late Security Force. Without them, their lungs would have been shredded by the razor sharp silicate particles thrown into the air.

An APC round struck one of the cargo containers. The container groaned under the weight as its structural integrity was weakened. A wave of silicates rushed out of the hole like sand. Some of the conscripts stopped firing and stared downward in shock. Ivanov crawled over to them and shouted at them to keep firing. Locke was grateful. He doubted they would respond well if he did the same.

The attackers began spreading out. The domino tactic didn't work anymore. The APCs stopped shooting. Locke bit back yet another swear as the enemy reached the base of the wall. Their sheer numbers had enabled them to brute force their way through the defenders' wall of fire.

The defenders crouched and poured fire down at the enemy as best they could. The enemy fired back. Several of the conscripts fell over the side, their heads or upper torsos obliterated. Many of the Soldiers stowed their weapons on their backs. They used their talons to pierce the metal of the cargo container and scaled the wall, moving upward like spiders. Several detonated as gunfire struck them. The cargo container groaned more.

“Fall back! Fall back!” Locke ordered.

It was all the Spartans and Ivanov could do to prevent the tactical retreat from turning into a rout. The defenders sprinted down the ramp and toward the final defensive line. One of the conscripts, Riley, tripped halfway there.

The Soldiers finished scaling the wall. They rained down fire on the retreating colonists. Riley finally snapped. He stood bolt upright, not moving, and fired his Assault Rifle full auto on his attackers. He shouted, or screamed, at the top of his lungs all the while. He was cut down within seconds. His body was blown into a dozen smoldering pieces before it hit the ground.

Locke glanced back at the colonists huddled together on the loading area. They were taking shelter behind a line of equipment crates they had moved into a makeshift barricade. Evelyn Collins was trying her best to keep them calm. He could catch glimpses of the bloody bandage on her forehead as she moved back and forth to comfort her people.

The defenders continued firing. Not that they were all that accurate. Half of the conscripts were shaking so much he doubted they could hit the ground if they tried, let alone the Soldiers. Enemy fire rained down around them. More civilians died.

“Elevator's here, boss!” Tanaka commed. Locke looked back to see Collins ushering the civilians into the interior of the elevator's base. They would make their way into the carriage in seconds. Tanaka herself rushed out and took a position behind the barricade of crates. She fired her SAW at the enemy. Locke was once again astonished at how accurate she was with that thing as several Soldiers on the wall were destroyed.

“Get the civilians out of here. We'll take the next ride up,” Locke ordered. They couldn't risk the Soldiers damaging the base of the stalk. The defenders would have to risk the journey themselves when the time came, but Locke wasn't going to risk the non-combatants.

“Boss, you expect me to leave y'all here?!” Tanaka asked in disbelief.

Locke was about to reiterate his order when the Soldiers on the wall stopped firing. They turned around and leaped over the far side of the wall. The defenders stopped firing as well, confused. Locke and Buck moved to opposite edges of the line of support beams, hoping to get a better line of sight on what was happening.

An unnerving silence hung in the air. The conscripts kept trembling.

Suddenly, the most heavenly thing Locke could imagine came over the comms.

“Osiris Lead, this is the UNSC Infinity, repeat, Osiris Lead, this is the UNSC Infinity. Please respond, over.”

Locke's heart leaped in joy.

“Copy Infinity, this is Osiris Lead,” Locke responded. “We are under attack. Repeat, we are under attack. The main settlement has fallen to unknown hostile forces, likely Forerunner in origin, and we are currently holding position at the base of the elevator. Repeat, we are holding position at the base of the elevator. Request immediate precision bombing of assaulting infantry. Repeat, requesting bombing of assaulting infantry, over.”

There was a brief pause on the line. Locke mentally screamed at the fleet to hurry the fuck up.

“Osiris Lead, this is Captain Lasky,” a familiar voice came over the comms. “I'm dispatching a wing of Broadswords to your location now. We're having difficulty contacting the Emergence from Dusk. Do you have any information on its whereabouts? Additionally, have you seen any sign of Guardian-01? Over.”

“Copy, Infinity,” Locke replied with a grimace. “Emergence from Dusk is KIA. Repeat, Emergence from Dusk is KIA. Frigate was destroyed by the unknown hostiles. Other than seismic activity there has been no sign of Guardian-01, over.”

The center of the wall exploded, cutting off Locke's conversation.

What appeared to be a massive sphere of liquid fire consumed all but the edges of the cargo containers. A cloud of obliterated materials rose into the air and was carried away by the wind. The globe of otherworldly flames faded away, revealing a gaping hole in the wall. The ground and edges of the hole were glowing a molten red. A single figure advanced through the ruined defenses.

It was at least 2.5 meters tall. Unlike the Soldier infantry, it was not completely humanoid. Its torso was far more triangular and extended a significant distance backward. Said back curved into a hunch as it went up, flaring into 'shoulders' twice as wide as its hips. The head was set between the shoulders; it was clad in what looked like a death mask from some aboriginal society. It looked like a cross between a man and an insectoid scarab.

Its limbs were also wrong. The legs were normal, with only one knee rather than the digitigrade limbs some aliens featured. However, there were what appeared to be 2 vestigial arms sticking out of the center of its upper chest. They hung there, looking like the useless limbs of a T-Rex. Its primary arms were clearly artificial and designed only for combat. One ended in a blood-red energy blade that resembled a cross between a sword and a hook made of right angles. The other ended in what was unmistakably a heavy weapon. The weapon glowed red at the tip.

The colonists were silent, awed by the creature that had appeared before them. They had no idea what to make of it. The Spartans, however, recognized what it was immediately. They had seen footage of its kind from the now-destroyed Forerunner world Requiem.

A Promethean Knight.

The Knight fired its weapon once more. The entire center of the final defensive line was consumed in another globe of liquid fire. Several smaller spheres of red arced out from the impact point, creating their own molten craters.

All of the conscripts were killed instantly. Locke could see Ivanov firing away with his pistol before being consumed whole by one of the miniature blasts. The Spartans themselves barely had time to lunge out of the way. Only their augmented reflexes and muscles, along with their positions on the edges of the cover, enabled them to escape oblivion.

“Osiris One, send up that elevator, NOW!” Locke ordered.

Tanaka rushed to comply without bothering to confirm. Moments later, the elevator carriage shot upward along the stalk. The Spartans were alone on the planet's surface.

The remaining members of Fireteam Osiris focused their fire on the newest enemy. Their shots did even less damage than they had against the Warden Eternal. Nothing even came close to scratching its armor.

The Knight angled its weapon upward.

Locke charged directly toward the Knight at top speed. He knew that he had no chance in a ranged fight. He fired his Battle Rifle as he ran. The Knight turned its attention away from the elevator. Excellent.

The Knight readied it sword/arm. Locke was in no mood to see if his armor could withstand a Forerunner melee weapon. As he got close to the enemy, he threw his Battle Rifle at its head. The Knight slashed its weapon through the air. The rifle was neatly cut in two. Locke ignored the pang of loss as his personal weapon was destroyed. He drew his combat knife.

There was no way he could win this fight. The Promethean Knights had been observed shrugging off tank shells back on Requiem. His knife wouldn't even scratch the surface. His only objective was stalling long enough for the civilians to escape. No more innocent people were going to die on this fucking planet. Not because of him.

The Knights swings were powerful. The Spartan used his thrusters to dodge to the side. The air sang as the enemy's blade passed within centimeters of Locke's midsection. His shield was instantly depleted.

Locke started losing the fight almost as soon as it began. He was unable to strike. Unable to counter. It became all he could do just to stay ahead of his foe's attacks.

Abruptly, his back hit a solid object. The Knight pushed forward and slashed horizontally. Locke lunged into a roll, barely ducking below the strike. The blade passed clean through the stone obelisk Locke had spotted and ignored earlier.

“Osiris Lead, this is Broadsword flight Epsilon-214, requesting target designation, over,” another new voice came over the comms. Help was here.

Now they just had to keep this freak still long enough for Locke to get clear.

“Hey, asshole!” Buck shouted out. The Knight and Locke both turned.

The former ODST used a power loader to fling an empty cargo container through the air. It spun as it flew, arcing straight toward the Knight.

The Forerunner warrior's heavy weapon fired. The cargo container was blown in half in mid-air. The ends fell far to either side of their target, their ends glowing red. The Knight turned back to see Locke finish shoving the top portion of the obelisk with all the force his muscles and thrusters could bring to bear. The blow struck by the Knight moments before had split the monument in 2. All Locke had to do was give it a push.

The Knight was pinned by the obelisk before it could react. Locke sprinted away, his muscles burning as he pushed himself to go faster than he ever had before.

“Osiris Three, las the target!” Locke ordered.

“Already on it, sir,” Buck replied. The Broadswords would be able to direct their fire to land right on top of the pinned enemy.

Still struggling beneath its stone burden, the Knight managed to once again angle its weapon upward. It fired.

The blast struck the elevator's stalk. Locke watched in horror as the entire thing seemed to vibrate in place. There was a thunderous groan. He looked up, using his armor's telescopic function to locate the carriage.

No...

The elevator had stopped part-way up the stalk. Its emergency brakes must have been tripped. Even if the colonists had secured themselves, the sheer force of the sudden deceleration would have killed them instantly. Collins and all of her people were gone.

Fireteam Osiris had failed. Locke had failed.

He barely noticed as the Broadswords' payload landed dead center on the Promethean Knight. Barely noticed as the Knight exploded and burned away with a force that made the Soldiers' demise seem tame. Barely noticed the pair of Pelican dropships swing into view, one landing to allow the Spartans entry while the other kept the Soldier forces suppressed.

Buck had to physically shake Locke to tear him away from the sight of the frozen elevator carriage. Locke's instincts took over. He felt his body carry him toward the waiting dropship. Felt himself climb onboard and strap himself in. Distantly felt the acceleration as the ship took off.

A thought occurred to the stunned soldier. He pulled up the feed from one of the Pelican's external camera's and focused on Meridian Station.

The colony was completely destroyed. The entire city was one giant pile of scorched rubble. Even though the resolution was not detailed enough, Locke would swear he could see the bodies of colonists covering vast swaths of the ruins. Everything on Meridian was dead. Gone.

Gone because of him.

The rest of the journey passed in a daze.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The world of Meridian trembled. For the third and final time, an area of the planet's surface was wracked by terrestrial upheaval. Hills and cliffs were created. Structures both natural and artificial collapsed as their foundations were undone. Ruin was spread to what little of the world had so far escaped it.

Unlike the previous tremors, the ground did not still. It did not settle. Instead, the broken terrain collapsed downward into a massive crater which then exploded upward in a geyser of rock, soil, and silicates.

Out of this rain of debris rose a figure. At nearly a kilometer and a half in height, it was taller than any skyscraper. It was certainly taller than any human ship rated for atmosphere. Those had to be relatively small due to the sheer force necessary to push into orbit.

The Guardian had no such restrictions. It rose out of the ground and into the sky as if gravity itself had no authority over it. As it rose, two enormous limbs extended and stood proudly out to its sides. They looked for all the world like metallic angel wings.

This was the only part of the construct that resembled anything holy. Its surface was a uniform chrome, save for the joints. These glowed with an ethereal light that seemed to shift between every color on spectrum of light visible to humanity. It likely extended far beyond even that. Emblazoned on the Guardian's surface were countless hieroglyphs, each of which were so complex they strained the eye to witness.

Its 'body', for lack of a better term, tapered to a point on its lower end. Its lower half resembled the segmented form of an enormous millipede. Its upper half appeared to be composed of an infinite number of continuously shifting interlocking plates. They formed hieroglyphs like living mosaics, shifting to a new symbol every few seconds.

At the construct's upper end there was a head. It resembled a humanoid skull. There were 2 eyes, 2 sinus holes with a nose ridge, and a row of naked teeth set in an eternal grin. The fluctuating colored lights visible in the construct's joints blazed within the sockets of this 'skull'. To look at them was to gaze into a kaleidoscope of unnatural, incomprehensible complexity expressed through light.

A sound, a song, rushed forth from the Guardian's form. It resembled a war horn mixed with the roar of an otherworldly beast. It reverberated throughout the planet, seeming to rattle the component atoms of everything within range. With the song came a pulse of electromagnetism. What few machines remained functional on the world either ceased to function or had its energy shield flare up.

The Guardian continued its ascent. It accelerated as it approached the edge of the planet's atmosphere, as if eager to meet the human fleet gathered to oppose it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My God...

Captain Lasky observed the Guardian rise into high orbit. It had been one thing to see the far-off, grainy footage of the previous Guardian appearances. It was quite another thing to see one active and coming directly at his fleet.

Although, oddly, its approach vector seemed to indicate that it was leaving the atmosphere in a line directly perpendicular to the ground. It was as if the Guardian was simply leaving the planet without giving the human fleet any thought at all.

“Frigates Pandora's Lament and Emergent Destiny move into formation Delta-23,” Lasky ordered over comms. The officers in command of the smaller ships signaled their compliance and moved into their new positions. All of the 7 remaining frigates of the Infinity task group were now in position, spread out to the sides of the flagship. Lasky felt another pang of loss as he was reminded of the destroyed Emergence from Dusk. He steeled himself. Its crew would be avenged.

“I hardly think that's necessary,” a most unwelcome voice put in. Major Caroline Ackerson was once again on Lasky's bridge. Evidently, she had wanted a front row seat.

Captain Lasky simply stared at her. His expression made it abundantly clear that he was not going to tolerate her undermining his command. The ONI officer raised her hands in mock surrender.

“I was simply voicing my opinion. You are, of course, in command,” she said in what Lasky could tell was false humility. “We're likely to get better footage from multiple angles, anyway,” she continued, clearly still thinking of the battle as already won. Lasky was not so confident.

The Guardian entered weapons range.

“Captain Lasky to Electronic Warfare, deploy payload. Repeat, deploy Guardian payload,” Lasky ordered over the comms. The ONI agents in the EW section confirmed the order and activated their weapon.

The Guardian seemed to pause as the electronic attack struck it. The ever-shifting surface of its upper torso shimmered chaotically rather than form more alien text. The bizarre light visible within its joints increased in brightness substantially. The Guardian's previously steady course became erratic as it seemed to have difficulty controlling its own propulsion.

The effect ended before the Infinity could even fire upon it. The chaotic shimmer ceased, replaced with more of the endlessly complex script. The lights faded to their prior illumination. The Guardian corrected its course, continuing to move directly away from the planet as if the fleet was not even there.

“Fire primary armament,” Lasky ordered his weapons officer.

The Infinity's primary gun, the mighty Super Magnetic Accelerator Cannon, flashed in the darkness of space. Its 3,000 ton payload of ferric tungsten raced out toward the Guardian at 4% of the speed of light. The shot struck the target directly in its center of mass, guided with flawless precision by the Infinity's artificial intelligence, Roland.

There was a titanic flash as the round impacted the Guardian. The sheer velocity and mass of the payload produced an explosion the equal of any self-respecting nuclear strike. The Infinity's sensor suite was temporarily blinded by the dazzling display.

When they came back online, they showed the Guardian completely unharmed.

It oriented itself toward the human fleet.

Arcs of lightning began dancing over the construct's 'wings'. Soon the appendages were completely covered, shining ever brighter. A sphere of light gathered directly in front of the Guardian's center mass. The lightning arced into it. The sphere increased in luminosity until it resembled Earth's star, Sol.

“Roland, evasive maneuvers!” Lasky shouted.

The Infinity's emergency thrusters wrenched the ship to its side just as a shaft of blinding light leaped across the space between the combatants.

It was not enough.

The Guardian's attack instantly depleted the mightiest energy shield in the galaxy. It sliced through entire decks, the starship's titanium-A armor plating providing as little resistance as the energy shield had. The Infinity was wracked by explosions as compartments across multiple decks explosively decompressed. The primary fusion reactor went offline. The lights dimmed momentarily before the backup reactors kicked in.

“Damage report,” Lasky demanded.

Roland's hologram appeared over his command chair's armrest. “Hull breaches from decks 3C-17A,” he reported. “Primary fusion reactor shut down due to system overload. Energy shield down and momentarily non-functional. Primary and secondary weapons systems offline. Slipspace drive offline. Electronic Warfare suite ineffectual.”

Lasky was stunned. He had been prepared for a hard fight, but this was a total surprise. This just wasn't supposed to happen. The Infinity was the flagship of the UNSC fleet. It was the mightiest warship in the galaxy, equipped with the most powerful and advanced systems and weaponry known to mortal kind. This type of blow was supposed to have been rendered a thing of the past.

Lasky shook off his shock. This battle needed to be fought. He was about to order his fleet to attack when he glanced at his console's external feed. His blood ran cold.

Another sphere, pure black this time, had gathered above the Guardian's head. It was miniscule compared to the one that had gathered prior to construct's initial attack. It seemed to absorb light rather than emit it, and was only visible due to the contrast between it and the lightning storm connecting it to the peak of the Guardian's head.

The sphere shot out, passing within a kilometer of one of the frigates. Rather than continuing on, it stopped dead and seemed to deepen in intensity. The frigate it had targeted was suddenly pulled sideways toward the sphere. To his credit, the ship's commander immediately had his vessel orient away from the orb and pushed it to maximum velocity.

It was not enough.

The ship was pulled inexorably toward the sphere as if it were a black hole. Screams rang out over the comms as the ship was compressed by the intense gravity. The screams were quickly cut off. Within seconds, the entire 500 meter long frigate had disappeared into a sphere no larger than 4 meters in diameter.

More pitch-black orbs shot out from above the Guardian's skull. Each one trapped a frigate. The Infinity's comms roared to life, filled with the desperate screams of those trapped by the gravity weapons. They only lasted a few seconds before they, too, cut out.

The Guardian resumed its previous course. It passed the Infinity's position within 10,000 kilometers. It did not orient toward the sole remaining human vessel. Its weapons did not reactivate. Apparently, they were beneath its notice now.

A hole was ripped open in the fabric of space. The Guardian passed through, and disappeared. Space closed up where it had obliged the titanic war machine, appearing as if nothing had ever been there.

The Battle of Meridian was over.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On the surface of Meridian, the space elevator failed. Weakened by the dying blow of the Promethean Knight, its stalk broke off from the installation's base. The upper portions, having to travel at a significantly higher velocity due to their high orbit, pulled it upward.

The stalk passed over the planet like a worm moving over the surface of a fruit. Eventually, it fell back to the ground. The force of its impact produced a massive windstorm that blew a kilometers-tall wall of black silicate particles in every direction.

The wall would eventually pass over the colonized sections of the planet. Meridian Station, the terraforming machine, even the mining pits were all buried underneath a massive wave of dirty black glass. All signs of human habitation was wiped from view and buried beneath the ashes of the world that was.

Meridian would never be settled again. The terraforming would reverse in the months to come. The future that its residents had fought so hard for died. In its place was a barren globe of ruined earth, orbiting a vacant star until the end of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act 2 at last comes to a close. I hope you all enjoyed the depressing horror. Think I'll go get drunk, or something.
> 
> Note: No one was more broken up than me when I realized I would be killing off Dr. Halsey. She's one of my favorite Halo characters. However, I realized that it was the best direction for me to go in this story. I hope I did the character justice.
> 
> Note: Halsey's death scene was heavily inspired by a scene in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfic 'I Am What I Am.' I highly recommend it for anyone that doesn't hate the character Xander Harris. 
> 
> Note: I hope the 'Aiko' character didn't come across as exploitative. Killing a child is one of the oldest tricks in the book and it usually comes across as insultingly lazy rather than emotionally powerful. I like to think I justified and set it up well enough that I pulled it off. Feedback?
> 
> Note: One of the biggest problems in Halo 5 from a storytelling perspective is that we never get to see the Guardians actually do anything. The most we see is one of them emitting an EMP at the end of it and, yeah, that'd be incredibly destructive, but it's just not very impressive. We should be terrified that all of these uber-death machines are being collected for nefarious purposes. Instead, they just come across as scenery. I hope I rectified that here. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 20

 

For the second time in a single year, Major Caroline Ackerson found herself walking into the _Point of No Return_. She reflected that the hallways of the ONI headquarters seemed more dimly lit than they had on her previous visit.

 

Like last time, the Major gave her data cubes to the security officer to scan. Like last time, she went through the clearance procedure before she was let into the dark room. Like last time, she found herself standing in a spotlight in front of several barely-visible desks.

 

Unlike last time, Ackerson went in sweating.

 

Things had gone wrong. Very, very wrong.

 

When the Major had received the order to immediately return to the Office of Naval Intelligence Headquarters less than a day after the Battle of Meridian, she had at first been relieved. She believed she was in serious danger the longer she remained on the _Infinity_. With the catastrophic failure of their electronic warfare attack, whatever political leverage ONI had over Captain Lasky was as obliterated as the _Infinity_ 's wing of frigates. Lasky could have probably spaced Ackerson and her entire staff and received little punishment for it. 

 

The relief at escaping the potentially wrathful Captain had only lasted as long as it took to board a shuttle off his ship. Once free, the Major realized that she was being recalled by ONI Command in the wake of a substantial failure. Visions of Midnight Facilities, of tiny cells draped in pitch darkness, with no human contact for months at a time, swam in front of her mind's eye.

 

Ackerson had spent the majority of the journey attempting to find ways to shift the blame for the disaster onto someone else. Anyone else. After extensive deliberation, she had come to the conclusion that the best candidate was the project's lead scientist, Dr. Hamilton. He was the one who had been in charge of manipulating the Forerunner equipment that had been used to remotely access and attack the Guardian. After all, Ackerson had only been meant to oversee the operation. It wasn't her fault that the eggheads hadn't been able to perform to expectations.

 

Right?

 

Sweat rolled down Major Ackerson's back as she waited for the Voice to address her. She continued waiting. And waiting. The silence drew on so long, she began to fear that the sound of her heartbeat would drown out the quietly menacing voice of her superiors.

 

“The mission was a complete failure.”

 

The Voice, once again, spoke in a calm, quiet, and terrifying tone. The threat of silent death seemed to underlie every word. Major Ackerson barely kept herself from jumping in shock. She rushed to cover her reaction.

 

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, trying to sound professional. “While none of Fireteam Osiris was lost, they were unable to apprehend Blue Team. The Spartan IIs escaped and all 4 members of the fireteam are currently aboard the _Infinity._ In regard to the Guardian, it seems that Dr. Hamilton did not have as strong a grasp on his technology as he assumed--”

 

“We are not interested in excuses.”

 

The Major's face went pale. Thankfully, the Voice continued before she could begin stuttering in fear.

 

“Your report indicates that Dr. Hamilton and his team were able to briefly access Guardian-01's data system.”

 

“Yes, that is correct,” Ackerson answered, recognizing the prompt for information. “The connection was severed in nanoseconds, but we were able to get a sense of the scale of Guardian-01's systems. They were...far more than we ever expected.” Ackerson steeled herself. This next part would be crucial to her continued survival. “Dr. Hamilton and his staff believe that overwhelming its systems, or even doing any kind of meaningful damage, may well be impossible.” Hopefully her superiors would latch on to the doctor's doubts as a point to place blame.

 

There was a pause.

 

“Dr. Hamilton believes that we may not be able to destroy the Guardians?”

 

“That is correct. He believes it is a fool's errand.” The implied insult in that term, which had never actually been used by the scientist in question, would hopefully lead attention away from the Major.

 

“What of this signal he detected? He claims that it resembles the footprint of a human AI?”

 

Major Ackerson blinked. This was not where she had expected the conversation to go. “...That is correct. It resembles the fingerprint of UNSC AI  CTN 0452-9.” 

 

That discovery had been a bit of a shock. CTN 0452-9, better known as the Master Chief's AI companion, Cortana, had disappeared along with the Didact's ship several months prior. It was assumed that the AI had been destroyed, but in case it had somehow survived aboard the Forerunner general's ship, every newly recovered piece of Forerunner technology was scanned for any sign of its presence. No one had actually expected to find its fingerprints within the Guardian's databanks. Yet, in the brief bit of data Dr. Hamilton and his AI assistants had managed to download before being cut off, that was exactly what was found.

 

Even more shocking, the data appeared to be some sort of recall code. It appeared, however absurd, that the dead AI was summoning these things from beyond the grave.

 

“Does Dr. Hamilton believe that CTN 0452-9 is controlling the Guardians?”

 

The Voice's words were tinged with interest. If Ackerson provided something Command wanted, maybe she would get to live without even having to sacrifice one of her subordinates.

 

“That is a distinct possibility,” she answered. “Dr. Hamilton suggests, judging by 0452-9's psychological profile, that it is highly unlikely it had anything to do with the ground forces that assaulted Meridian Station. However, the Guardians themselves may very well be under its command.”

 

The next words to come from the Voice were so quiet that the Major struggled to hear them. She was not sure if she was meant to hear them at all. It was as if the Voice was momentarily thinking out loud.

 

“Under its command...”

 

There was another pause. Ackerson strained her eyes to pierce the veil of shadows that separated her from her superiors. It proved as futile as ever.

 

After an eternity, the Voice continued.

 

“We will dictate a new course of action shortly.”

 

Major Ackerson suppressed a sigh of relief. It seemed she might get to live. More importantly, she would get to avoid imprisonment in a black site prison.

 

“Now, on to more...concerning matters.”

 

The Major's heartbeat began pounding in her ears again. The Voice continued.

 

“We assume you have reviewed the data concerning the Spartan IIs? The data contained in the memories of the AI designated 'Sloan'?”

 

A new understanding washed over the Major. She had been so consumed by the events in the orbital battle, she had hardly given any thought to the data she had received from Agent Locke. Mentally reviewing it now, an entirely new dread began forming a ball of dark matter in the Major's stomach.

 

“Yes, I have,” she responded. “I found it rather distressing--”

 

“Distressing?!”

 

This time, Major Ackerson actually did jump. The Voice was showing even more emotion than when the Major had mentioned Dr. Halsey's name in her previous visit to the  _ Point of No Return _ . The Voice continued.

 

“Allow us to play a little clip for you, Major, so that you might understand just how 'distressing' this should really be to you.”

 

An audio file played. A monotone voice identified it as being a recording of events within a local law enforcement station on Meridian. She heard a voice, aged and tinged with bitterness, criticize an unseen party for being a lackey of corrupt leadership. The voice that responded stunned the Major. It was a member of Blue Team, Spartan-104. It went on a rant in which it described its fellow Spartan IIs as 'family'. It concluded with a rather alarming declaration.

 

“Don't tell me I haven't bled, that my _family_ hasn't bled, in service to people who don't deserve it!”

 

The Voice did not let Ackerson catch her breath.

 

“Compare that with this.”

 

Another audio file played. This time the monotone stamp identified it as having been taken from Agent Jameson Locke's mission recordings. Another member of Fireteam Osiris, Vale, had just finished asking why Blue Team was following the orders of Dr. Halsey. This time the response came from Spartan-117 himself.

 

“We're following her because we trust her more than the people who give _you_ orders.”

 

Once again, the Voice was relentless.

 

“Combine these recordings with the rest of the data that the Liang-Dortmund AI collected on the Spartans during their time on Meridian. What conclusion do you come to?”

 

Major Ackerson was unable to keep herself from swallowing.

 

“The Spartan IIs have developed free will.”

 

This was bad. Worse than anything that had happened in orbit over Meridian.

 

Major Ackerson tried to regain her balance. “I understand that this is a problem--”

 

“Problem? Major, this is a disaster!”

 

The mid-level officer could only nod at the Voice's outburst. Her ethereal superior continued.

 

“Need I remind you, Major, that the entire reason ONI elevated the Spartan IIs to the status of national heroes was because they were merely tools? Because they had no identities of their own? What happens if the nature of their newly-found selves gets out to the public? Having individual personalities that could—no, _do—_ conflict with the carefully crafted heroic personas we created for them could undermine decades of work. Not to mention whatever agendas Halsey has pushed them into supporting. We could be dealing with full-blown Spartan Insurrectionists soon!”

 

The situation seemed to keep getting worse and worse. The Voice felt the need to keep adding to the Major's distress.

 

“Have you considered how many would flock to their banner? How many young members of the UNSC, having grown up worshiping the Spartans, would jump at the chance to follow them in a grand revolution? Have you considered that, Major?”

 

Major Ackerson had, indeed, been considering exactly that. The hero cult that ONI had built up around the Spartans had helped keep morale from collapsing during the Human-Covenant War. Now it could lead to the destruction of everything ONI had built and worked to preserve. The Voice calmed.

 

“We will have to take measures to neutralize any potential damage the Spartan IIs'...rebellion...may have on the stability of the Unified Earth Government.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Captain Thomas Lasky was sitting alone in his office, holding his head in his hands.

 

Disaster. Catastrophe. Nightmare. Cataclysm.

 

His mind just kept coming up with words to describe the 'Battle' of Meridian. None of them were adequate.

 

All 8 of the Frigates in his task group had been destroyed. His ship, the flagship of the UNSC fleet, had been heavily damaged to the point of being rendered temporarily non-functional. The mightiest fleet in the UNSC Navy had been crushed in seconds.

 

Not to mention the 6,572 casualties.

 

Those men and women had been under Lasky's command. They had trusted him to lead them into battle. To look after them and bring them to hell and back again. He had failed them all.

 

This was to say nothing of the more long-term consequences of this 'Battle'.

 

The _Infinity_ Task Group was a high profile placement. The eyes of all human space followed it. As such, only the best and brightest in the UNSC were assigned there. Countless up-and-coming commissioned and non-commissioned officers applied to be stationed in the _Infinity_ Task Group every year, viewing it as the fast-track to promotion. Some of the most brilliant military minds of the coming generation had been lost in the one-sided slaughter over Meridian.

 

The Broadsword division had probably been the worst hit. Back during the Human-Covenant War, humanity had yet to develop energy shields for its naval vessels. This lead to the pilots of the 2-man Longsword fighter/bombers having a life expectancy roughly on par with the average fruit fly. Experienced pilots of small military spacecraft were thus a rarity. Most of them had been assigned to the _Infinity_ Task Group in order to boost its performance record as much as possible. While most of the Broadswords stationed within the _Infinity_ itself had survived, the sheer number of the smaller craft that had been sucked into the gravity weapons along with their frigates had done damage that the Broadsword division would take years to recover from.

 

This was all in addition to the tens of thousands of lives lost on Meridian itself. The land battle had been largely over by the time the _Infinity_ arrived, but he still felt responsible for the slaughter that had taken place on the UEG colony. The civilians had trusted the UNSC to protect them, and it had failed to deliver.

 

Lasky had no idea how he was going to explain all of this to Fleet Admiral Hood. How could he expect the Admiral not to remove him from command after this disaster? Lord knew it was nothing worse than he deserved.

 

The Captain pushed himself up out of his chair, straightened his clothing, and went to make his report. He had spent enough time wallowing in grief and self-pity. He would face the consequences of his failure, whatever they may be, and accept them with dignity.

 

_At least I don't have to deal with Major Ackerson anymore,_ Lasky thought, trying to focus on the bright side. 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The few surviving colonists of Meridian Station were settling in relatively well within depths of the _Infinity_. The civilians that had gone up in the elevator's accidental first trip had managed to board the freighters and detach from the stalk prior to its cataclysmic destruction. The Guardian had neglected to target them, presumably because they had not acted aggressively towards it.

 

_Small blessings_ , Spartan Jameson Locke thought. He was currently in his office, watching a live feed from the security cameras placed in what was becoming known as the 'Refugee Section.' He was watching the civilians he and his fireteam had managed to save.

 

_All 73 of them_ .

 

There had been 50,137 colonists on Meridian just prior to his arrival.

 

50,064. That was how many people had died because Locke had disabled Governor Sloan. That was how many had died because he had unquestioningly followed orders from Command.

 

Compared to the exterminations of human colonies that had taken place in the Human-Covenant War, this number was practically nothing. Each Covenant sack of a human planet racked up a kill count at least in the 8 digit range. The fall of Meridian Station would barely qualify as a footnote in the history texts on the 26 th Century.

 

It would take up a lot more space in Locke's mind. He wondered it it would ever leave his consciousness.

 

The video feed showed a couple, a woman and a man, move off to the side of a group. Locke zoomed in. He thought he recognized one of them. It took a moment before he recognized Michelle Cortez, the woman that had alerted Tanaka about the generator located in Waterloo's basement. Without that woman, it was likely that they would have all been killed by the Buzzards. Perhaps Locke should go and thank her...

 

No.

 

Locke couldn't go to see her.

 

He couldn't go to see any of them.

 

After all, there was a reason why he was looking at the survivors through a viewscreen instead of visiting them in person. He just...couldn't bring himself to go to them. He couldn't bring himself to face them. He had stared down countless alien horrors without a second thought, yet here he was, running away from a bunch of civvies.

 

The viewscreen showed the man Cortez was talking to react with shock. Cortez smiled and placed his hand over her stomach. The man started smiling. The couple embraced, both of them crying. Huh. She was probably pregnant.

 

Locke zoomed out to examine the group once more. He activated the audio function, deciding he wanted to know what they were talking about.

 

“I'm tellin' ya, I saw one of 'em flyin' through the air!” one of them said.

 

“Ah, you're full 'a shit, Wilson,” another one said. The first one grew indignant.

 

“How the hell would you know?” speaker #1 demanded. “You were stuck in the front bin the whole time! I'm tellin' ya, the Spartans have got jet packs on those things!”

 

“Wouldn't surprise me,” a third colonist spoke up. “From everything I saw, they've got some seriously fancy gear.”

 

“And the balls to use it,” speaker #1 continued.

 

Speaker #3 grunted in agreement. “Amen to that.” He paused to think something over. “Ya know, I may not like the UNSC overmuch, and the UEG can go straight to hell, but I think the Spartans have done right by us.”

 

All of the colonists in earshot voiced their agreement. They began sharing their own stories about what they had supposedly seen the members of Fireteam Osiris do. They were all embellished. It was obvious that the Spartans would soon reach mythic proportions in the minds of the survivors of Meridian.

 

Locke turned off the feed. He couldn't listen to any more.

 

_If they only knew,_ he thought. Locke glanced down at the object in his hand. 

 

The ruined action figure had been a big surprise to Locke when he found it. He had been emptying his equipment pouches along with the rest of his fireteam after arriving back on the  _Infinity._ They had been turning in whatever ammo or equipment they hadn't used to the quartermaster. None of them spoke a word; the air had been...rather tense. 

 

Then, suddenly, there it was. In his hand. He hadn't remembered keeping it. For a moment a primal, childish part of him felt like he was being haunted. Fortunately, he had recovered quickly enough to hide the figure before anyone noticed it.

 

The toy had barely resembled the Master Chief when it had been new. Now, it didn't resemble much of anything at all. Half of its surface was either charred or slightly melted. The '117' that had been painted on its chest was now gone. Locke wondered if it could ever be repaired; if a child would ever be inspired by it again.

 

Locke shook his head. He was getting lost in his thoughts. He buried the figure deep in his desk drawers before looking at the desk surface to left of his compad.

 

A set of data cubes was sitting there. They contained information he was not supposed to have.

 

ONI Command had demanded that Locke destroy all copies of Governor Sloan's memories that he had in his possession. Locke had informed them that he would do just that. He had stopped short of telling them that he would only do so after he had examined them.

 

Compartmentalization was ONI's modus operandi. Locke was supposed to know what he needed to know, and absolutely nothing more. If this policy was broken, it could lead to security breaches and deadly consequences, for those within and outside the Office of Naval Intelligence. If Command ever suspected he had played a trick on them...

 

Locke pushed those thoughts to the side. He plugged one of the cubes into his encrypted compad. He started a search for anything that was related to the topic he was most interested in. The topic that he couldn't stop thinking about.

 

It did not take him long to find what he was looking for. It took the form of a set of restricted personnel files. Locke started reading.

 

Name: Steven Rogers.

Occupation: Prospector.

 

Locke read long into the night, devouring all of the information Governor Sloan had collected on Blue Team, their assumed identities, and how they had spent their time on the doomed colony.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The comm terminal took a long damn time to complete its task. It wasn't because the other party in the call was far away, although that was definitely true. Really, it was because of security. It took forever to go through all the levels of encryption necessary to talk to the person Spartan Edward Buck wanted to talk to.

 

The viewscreen finally showed a live feed of Veronica Dare. Buck sighed in relief as he saw his wife for the first time in months.

 

“Buck, what the hell is going on over there?” Veronica asked. Buck suppressed a grimace. She was using last names again. Great.

 

“Hello to you, too, Miss Naval Intelligence,” Buck replied. “What exactly do you want to know?”

 

Veronica was clearly in no mood to joke. “Try, 'everything'. News is scarce where I'm sitting. Command is trying to keep a lid on things, but people are still in a near-panic. I'm trying to weather a major storm over here and I _need_ intel.”

 

Buck snorted. “The word 'clusterfuck' comes to mind.” He went on to give an account of everything that had happened on Meridian, as well as what he had learned about the fleet battle. Technically, sharing this information was a major breach of security clearance. He could face charges of treason for this. Fortunately, the gadget that Veronica had given him, which was currently stuck to the door of the comm room he was using, would mask any sign of what he was really talking about. As far as any monitoring equipment or passersby were concerned, he and his wife were having a perfectly legal conversation. Besides, if anyone could hack one of Veronica's comms, they deserved to catch them.

 

“Is ONI really gonna try to cover this up?” Buck asked, disbelieving. Even if they could somehow hide what had happened here, doing so would be a seriously dishonorable thing to do. Even for the Office of Naval Intelligence.

 

“What do you think, Buck?” Veronica demanded with a scowl. “The flagship fleet of the UNSC just got its ass handed to it. National morale is going to plummet clean through the floor. We've got to contain this as much as possible, and that means keeping this quiet for as long as we can and only releasing select details of what happened.”

 

“People _died_ here, Veronica!” Buck all but shouted. “We should tell people the truth!”

 

“A lot _more_ people will die if there's a mass panic!” Veronica countered, exasperated. This was familiar ground for them. “We're scrambling to handle this over here, Buck. The fallout from this shit is going to be _insane_. I'm already not liking the scuttlebutt I'm hearing.”

 

Buck paused. He noticed something that cut off his rant before it could really get started. “'Shit' and 'scuttlebutt'?” Buck said with a grin. “Sounds like you're picking up a bit of Marine-speak. Nice to see I'm teachin' _you_ somethin', for a change.”

 

Veronica tried to keep up her scowl. It only lasted a few seconds. She broke into a grin as well, and in a few more seconds they were both chuckling. The tension deflated instantly.

 

“Look, no promises, but I'll do what I can to make sure justice is done over here,” she assured him.

 

Veronica paused. Her eyes grew soft. “You must've gone through hell.”

 

Buck got a bit misty-eyed himself. He knew he was the only person alive who ever got to see this side of Veronica Dare.

 

“Hey, it's all part of the job, right?” Buck joked. They chuckled again.

 

The couple moved on to less contentious topics after that. They smiled and laughed, enjoying what time together they could manage. It was never very much. Such were the costs of serving as the sword and shield of humanity.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Spartan Holly Tanaka punched Locke in the face. She followed it up with a knee to the midsection and several rapid fire strikes to the kidneys.

 

She wasn't _actually_ hitting her CO, of course. She was in one of the exercising rooms, taking out her frustrations on a punching bag she was pretending was Jameson Locke. She kept hitting the bag, with more and more vicious strikes.

 

The punching bag split open. This was a rather impressive feat considering the bag she was using was rated for Spartan use, meaning it had been stress tested with a pneumatic cannon. Tanaka grinned in pride before remembering that this would probably be taken out of her pay. She smacked the bag a few more times in frustration before walking away to let the janitorial staff do their thing.

 

What the hell was she going to do?

 

Should she file a complaint? After the absolute disaster that was the Battle of Meridian, she could probably get Locke brought up on charges. If someone had asked her before the fight at Waterloo, she'd probably have done just that.

 

But Tanaka had seen Locke fight. She'd seen him trying desperately to hold the line. She thought back to the last few seconds of the battle.

 

Tanaka had sent the elevator up from the exterior rather than ride it up herself. Technically, she hadn't been violating orders, as Locke had told her to 'send' it up, although that may have been a slip of the tongue. Still, she hadn't been about to cut and run. There was still fighting going on.

 

Locke had fought hard. He'd charged an enemy he knew he didn't have a chance in hell of beating, just because he knew it would kill the civilians if he didn't. That was honorable.

 

However, it didn't erase the fact that Locke was the one who had disabled the defense grid in the first place. He'd followed an idiotic order that left Meridian Station almost completely defenseless, and for what? The AI in charge played its cards close to the chest? Was that a good enough reason for a summary execution, now? Not to mention the fact that he seemed surprised when he was told that only Sloan had the keys to the turrets. So he didn't even know anything about the place he was screwing over.

 

Tanaka stowed her workout clothes and slammed the door to her locker. The bang echoed throughout the room. She noticed some of the other Spartan IVs roll their eyes. She also noticed them quickly look away when she glared at them for it. Tanaka was tempted to make something of their attitude. She shook her head. They weren't worth the trouble.

 

What should she do? Locke had fought hard, but he was still responsible for every death on that planet.

 

Then again, so was Tanaka...

 

She tried to banish that thought. She failed.

 

Tanaka had failed the people of Meridian. She remembered the people she had met on that doomed shithole of a colony. That colony that felt so much like Minab. She remembered that secretary, Belmonte. She remembered the colonists she had helped load onto the elevator before it went up the stalk...only to screech to a halt, killing everyone inside.

 

What right did Holly Tanaka have to survive, when they didn't?

 

It was an old question for her. A question she had asked herself many times over the years, in regard to different people. Before the people of Meridian, it had been her fellow Spartans. Before her fellow Spartans, it had been her fellow Marines. Before it was her fellow Marines, it had been...

 

Before the Marines, it had been...

 

The Spartan IV shook her head. She was not going down that road. She'd made peace with her family's deaths years ago. Really, she had.

 

The echo of an ancient pain, an unhealed wound, ached in her gut as she walked back to her quarters.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The slide-show came to an end. Spartan Olympia Vale said a quick prayer and closed down her compad. She set it down on the small table next to her bed in one of _Infinity's_ sick bays.

 

She had just finished looking over the pictures she had taken of the children she had met on Meridian. She didn't know most of their names, so she couldn't say them aloud to honor them. Looking over these images was all she could do to remember them.

 

Not that Vale could ever forget. Something about Meridian had touched every empathetic nerve in her body. It had reminded her of every Outer Colony she had visited, of every injustice she had learned of, of every Outer Colonist she had met during her childhood. It felt as if failing to save Meridian represented failing to save them all.

 

_At least some of them managed to survive_ , Vale thought, trying to stay positive. It didn't work.

 

The door to the sick bay opened. Vale could hear someone approach her end of the room. She turned away, pretending to check on something, so she could wipe the tears off of her face. She'd spent a lot of the time since she'd regained consciousness crying.

 

“How ya doin', Vale?” Buck asked. Tanaka came up to stand next to him. Vale smiled at her squadmates. She appreciated them coming to visit her.

 

“I'm holding up fine,” Vale said. “The doctors say I'll be in here for about a week, but I think I can cut that in half, at least.”

 

They all heard one of the doctors in question, a Dr. Chakwas, snort from part way across the room. This was a conversation the Spartan had had with the good doctor several times. As much as she appreciated having time to catch up on her reading, Vale despised being stuck in one of these beds.

 

Something occurred to the her. “Is Locke busy, or something?” Vale asked. It stung a little that her leader didn't come with the others.

 

Her squadmates' expressions darkened.

 

“We haven't seen 'im in a while,” Buck said. “To be honest, that's probably a good thing.” Tanaka grunted in agreement.

 

Vale frowned. She supposed Locke was more than a little responsible for what had happened on Meridian, but he hadn't intended any harm. He had only done what he thought was right. Besides, he'd fought as hard as any of them to save the colonists.

 

Buck and Tanaka both seemed to pick up on her thoughts. She had always been a terrible card player.

 

“You're way too forgiving for your own good, you know that?” Tanaka asked with a sad grim.

 

The Spartans all had a good laugh at that.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

A blue light flashed on the surface of Meridian. Where moments before there had been an empty patch of silicate ground, there were now multiple pieces of alien equipment surrounding a raised platform. Atop the platform were 4 figures. They were wearing marred, damaged armor.

 

One of the figures was limping badly. The wounded one was supported by another of its fellows, which had the injured party's arm around its shoulder.

 

Another figure was scanning the environment, keeping its pistol at the ready. A broken sniper rifle was attached to its back.

 

The final figure was standing alone. It carried a broken body in its arms.

 

“It looks like this equipment is solid matter. Not hard-light,” Kelly remarked, helping Fred move off of the platform. They weren't sure if the teleportation technology they had located within the caves would reactivate with them on it.

 

“We'll take what we can with us,” the Master Chief said. The response was more of a reflex than anything. Recovering any intact alien technology had been standing orders for his entire military career.

 

The Chief spoke in a voice utterly devoid of emotion. Kelly would probably have remarked on it, if they hadn't all shared his monotone since learning of their mother's...death.

 

“I'm calling in the micro-prowler. We'll have to risk detection,” the Chief continued. If any of his squadmates asked, he would have said it was a calculated risk. In reality, John just wanted to get off of this planet as quickly as possible. Their target was gone, and he didn't want to spend any more time on this hellhole than he had to.

 

The stealth ship Blue Team had recovered months before came screaming in from orbit. It landed 10 meters away from the Spartans. Blue Team moved up the open ramp. John gently laid Dr. Halsey's body on one of the bunks. Kelly helped Fred lay down on the floor, the bunk being unable to support the weight of the Spartan and his armor. Those of them who were still well enough to move went about collecting what little Forerunner technology they could fit in their transport.

 

The micro-prowler rose into the air. They would have to enter slipspace fast to avoid being apprehended by whatever UNSC forces were in the system. However advanced the ship's stealth systems may have been, they couldn't hide the heat from reentry.

 

The Master Chief noticed something strange as they rose into high orbit. If he was reading his coordinates right, he should be able to see Meridian Station, but it was nowhere on his screen. In fact, he couldn't even locate the orbital elevator. The ship's alarm system notified the Chief of a large human ship in the star system. The Chief's eyes widened behind his polarized visor as he saw the heavily damaged UNSC _Infinity_.

 

Immediately, John knew what had happened. This scene was one he had seen countless times before. The battle had been lost, the alien force had moved in and annihilated a human colony, and whatever UNSC forces remained were forced to lick their wounds and hope to win next time.

 

What might have happened if Blue Team...if Dr. Halsey...had been able to fully access the Forerunner computer systems? Could they have turned the tide of the battle?

 

As the micro-prowler passed into slipspace, ignoring the _Infinity's_ demands for identification, a single thought occupied the Master Chief's mind. It was a piece of conversation from earlier in the night. It had been repeating itself, asserting its presence and overwhelming his conscious thoughts, over and over again for hours:

 

“ _Name's Locke. I'm the leader of Fireteam Osiris. We've been looking for you guys...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was mostly about the aftermath of the Battle of Meridian and how it impacted the major characters. The next chapter will largely be set up for the Sanghelios arc. In other words, the action's gonna slow down a bit for a while. There will probably be more than in the Meridian arc, considering the planet is locked in a civil war, but I'm not going to go overboard. Hope you enjoyed all the climactic battles.
> 
> Note: And ONI continues to be Stupid Evil. The concept of the evil military/government trying to take control of the horrible monster instead of destroying it (let's be honest, you all figured out that's what's happening immediately, right? Cool.) is pretty cliché at this point. I think Jurassic World is probably the worst offender in this regard. However, I do think it can work if handled properly. I've tried to characterize ONI as arrogant, and one of the things that arrogant people often do when confronted with their own failure is to go into denial. They refuse to acknowledge that they were wrong. Here, ONI refuses to acknowledge that they can't control everything. They're doubling down on their flawed ideology rather than being honest with themselves about their own faults and limitations. This kind of behavior has destroyed countless people and organizations in real life. *cough Wall Street cough cough*
> 
> Note: The part about the brightest officers of the next generation being killed in the battle was inspired by a scene in the Star Wars novel Heir to the Empire, by Timothy Zahn. For those of you who haven't read it (all 3 of you) I highly recommend it, as well as its sequels Dark Force Rising and The Last Command. Really, anything written by Zahn is a solid bet to be quality reading.
> 
> Note: Hey, anybody remember those awesome trailers that seemed to suggest that the Master Chief and Agent Locke hated each other, or at the very least were in some way enemies? Remember how absolutely none of that was in the actual game? Yeah, I'm gonna try to fix that here.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The room was pitch dark. No light sources could penetrate the bulkheads that served as walls to the personal domicile. Little sound could penetrate, either. There was near-total silence. It was comparable to sensory deprivation.

In other words, there was nothing to distract Jameson Locke from his thoughts.

The ONI Agent sat up in his bunk. He sighed, put his feet over the side of his bed, and activated the lights. It was no use trying to sleep. He had barely slept at all in the few days since Meridian. Every time he tried, he saw the doomed planet on the inside of his eyelids.

The compad hummed to life as Locke activated it. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well get some work done. He started skimming through Blue Team's files once more, his thoughts wandering to his new orders. They had been a bit of a shock.

When Locke had entered one of the comm rooms in the _Infinity_ 's recreation wing, ready to report his failure, he had been nervous. Well...not quite nervous. 'Numb' would be closer to the truth. It was a rather worrying emotional response, really.

Locke had entered the room, stuck the jamming device on the door, and made his report to the Disembodied Voice and its default user image.

To his surprise, DV hadn't blamed Locke or Fireteam Osiris at all. Instead, it had directed all attention to the Spartans and their 'mother'. DV claimed that the renegades had activated the Guardian. That Dr. Halsey had deployed the Soldiers in order to delay the UNSC. That Blue Team, being the obedient drones that they were, had gone along with her plan without question. Then, his unseen superiors at Command had dropped the bomb:

The mission was no longer retrieval. Dr. Halsey and Blue Team needed to be stopped at all costs.

Locke had been ordered to terminate them all.

The only remaining Spartan IIs in existence.

The Master Chief himself.

The order was perfectly logical. The Guardian and the Soldiers were a major threat to the UNSC, the UEG, and sapient life in general. They needed to be stopped at any cost. The lives of any humans, even ones as significant as these, were nothing in comparison. These people were threats that needed to be removed, like any other targets Locke had eliminated over the years.

Assuming Command was being truthful, that is.

Locke thought back to Governor Sloan's memories. The ones he was not supposed to have seen. The ones that seemed to demonstrate that Blue Team...that the Master Chief...were not mindless drones at all.

If that was true, then the question became 'Why?' Why had Blue Team decided to go rogue? Why were they following Dr. Halsey? Were they responsible for the events on Meridian?

Part of Locke desperately hoped that they were.

Locke shook his head. He had to stay logical.

If the Spartan IIs really were sapient beings, why would they want to summon the Guardians? Why would they want to deploy the Soldiers? It was possible that the Soldiers were an unintended side-effect rather than a deliberate attack. It would make sense. After all, Locke would bet that the legendary Blue Team would have done a better job instructing their killer drones in military tactics. The Soldiers' behavior would be an embarrassment to any professional military mind. However, that still left the question of why they would want control of the Guardians.

Were they simply following Dr. Halsey's orders because they trusted her? If Dr. Halsey had manipulated them into losing faith in ONI without compromising her own authority, her threat level would increase exponentially.

Of course, it was also possible that the Spartan IIs were following only their own desires. Had they decided to use the Forerunner constructs to conquer? To seize power for themselves? It would make a kind of sense. Desiring power after spending their entire lives under the control of others would be a very human response, after all.

If the Spartans IIs had released the Soldiers, even accidentally, because they were pursuing their own agenda, it would make them just as responsible for the destruction of Meridian as Locke. Perhaps more so.

That thought sealed it. Locke would pursue the renegade Spartans. He would not kill them, however. Not before he asked them 'Why?' He had to know if they were indeed guilty.

Maybe then he would be able to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Captain Lasky stood at attention and saluted. This was due more to his own opinion of the officer he was addressing rather than military protocol.

“Admiral Hood, sir,” he said, addressing the holographic image.

The Fleet Admiral and Commanding Officer of the entire UNSC returned the salute. “At ease, Captain,” he said. Lasky complied and took a seat behind his desk. The Admiral's hologram was projected above its surface. “How are you holding up?” his superior asked.

“Rather well, all things considered,” Lasky responded truthfully. In all honesty, he was still rather shocked. After he had finished briefing the Admiral and the Joint Chiefs, he had been expecting them to remove him from command and break his career like twig. Instead, he had been informed that he would remain in command of the _Infinity_ and that he would receive new orders shortly. He presumed that this comm from the Admiral would deliver said orders.

Admiral Hood seemed to see clean through Lasky's poker face. His eyes softened an infinitesimal amount. “Don't blame yourself, son. You're far from the only commander to be outclassed in naval warfare in the past century.”

“Thank you, sir. I'll try to take that to heart,” Lasky said, nodding. The Admiral smiled at that, seeming to recognize the difficulty Lasky would have in said task. It was something all officers went through. All of the good ones, anyway.

The 2 naval officers spent some time discussing various topics relating to their position. Logistics, troop placements, etc. The conversation soon turned to the state of the _Infinity_ Task Group.

“We'll have a Cradle, fully stocked, in-system within the week. They should get your bird up and running soon enough,” the Admiral said.

“Thank you, sir,” Lasky replied, impressed. There weren't many Cradle Repair/Refit Stations left in the UNSC fleet. The Stations were essentially slipspace-capable plates of Titatnium-A, a kilometer to a side, capable of servicing 6 destroyers at once—3 on its upper side and another 3 on its lower side. Towards the end of the war, things had grown so desperate that the Cradles had been used as shields to absorb plasma fire from Covenant ships. This had allowed the human fleets to avoid damage long enough to actually rack up a few victories. It was a Pyrrhic tactic, obviously, since the UNSC fleet would need servicing to stay functional, but it had been necessary. Morale was near rock bottom in both the general populace and within the military itself. The sacrifice of the Cradles may have bought enough time for humanity to survive. Unfortunately, it had left the fleet in rather short supply of the precious Stations.

Admiral Hood sighed. Lasky guessed he wouldn't like what came next. He was correct.

“Unfortunately, we will not be able to replace your lost frigates at this time,” the Admiral said. “The Navy is still too depleted to spare any ships. We're struggling to defend what territory we have left.”

This was privileged information, known only to the highest ranks of the UNSC and the civilian government. The honor he felt at being inducted into their number had combined with the horror at humanity's vulnerability to make the revelation rather disorienting. The technically mid-ranking officer forced himself to focus on the present.

Captain Lasky nodded, dejected. He would have to make due with whatever repairs the Cradle managed within its timeframe.

“Your ultimate assignment, however, has not changed,” Admiral Hood continued, to Lasky's surprise. “The _Infinity_ still has the potential to be the morale saver we wanted her to be. If we can find and neutralize the source of this new threat, and give the _Infinity_ credit for it, we can still salvage this disaster.”

Captain Lasky sat straighter in his chair. “Thank you, sir. I won't let you down, Admiral.”

Admiral Hood chuckled. “I know you won't, son.” His face grew serious again. “You'll have to wait until we figure out where the next one is going to appear. The engineers are working on that now. Any last questions?”

Lasky hesitated. “Yes, sir...If I may, why was I not relieved of command? The Battle of Meridian was my responsibility, after all.”

“You stow that shit, sailor,” the Admiral ordered sternly. Lasky sat straighter in his chair again, chastised. “You did everything you could. Besides...more fingers are being pointed at ONI right now. It was their tech that failed, after all.”

“...Really, sir?” Lasky asked. He tried to hide his surprise. ONI had always been rather good at evading blame for its actions, even when they were obvious blunders. The Admiral saying they were receiving criticism was surprising, to say the least.

Admiral Hood displayed that miniscule smirk of his. Although Lasky would swear that there was a more predatory edge to it this time. “Dismissed, Captain,” the Admiral concluded simply. The comm terminated. Captain Lasky was left in an empty room.

The mid-ranking officer swallowed. He got the impression that he had just gotten a glimpse at a very large game. He shook his head, deciding to focus on his current mission. He'd leave anything above his pay-grade _above_ his pay-grade, thank you very much.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The briefing room was silent. Locke might have honestly preferred it to be full of shouting.

The other members of Fireteam Osiris were staring at him in disbelief. He was standing at the front of the room, facing his subordinates once again, and had just finished briefing them on the updated status of their current mission:

The recovery of Blue Team was now a tertiary objective. The primary objective was to discover the source of the Guardians' recall code as well as follow any lead on the location of a possible command center for the superweapons. The secondary objective was to prevent the activation of any more Guardians if at all possible.

If Blue Team or Dr. Halsey interfered with either of the first 2 objectives, they were to be eliminated.

The room had descended into silence at that point.

_Maybe they're just shocked that I'm still in charge_ , Locke thought sarcastically. The operation had ceased to be under the direct authority of the Office of Naval Intelligence and was now within the normal military chain of command. Fireteam Osiris had not been dissolved only due to the leaders of ONI pulling every string they had left. At least, that was the official story. In reality, Locke himself was still taking orders from ONI, and his orders had the elimination of Blue Team as the primary objective.

_Now there's a 2nd layer of dishonesty in play_ , Locke thought with a mental grimace. His orders would not interfere with his own search for answers. He banished those thoughts. He couldn't afford to become unbalanced.

Spartan Vale was the 1st to speak. “Why would Blue Team keep interfering? Wouldn't they recognize the danger and work with us?” Judging by the look in her eyes, Locke surmised that she was still dealing with the trauma of the fall of Meridian.

Spartan Tanaka followed with her characteristic borderline insubordination. “Given the mess we made, maybe we oughtta consider whether they might know more than we do, boss. Maybe we shouldn't be gettin' in their way.” Tanaka's eyes were blazing with barely restrained fire. Locke was surprised she had enough self control to resist the urge to physically attack him right there in the briefing room.

Spartan Buck just stared at Locke. His eyes were inscrutable. Locke was unsure just what was going on in the veteran's mind. He found this more unnerving than Tanaka's open hostility.

“To answer Vale's question,” Locke began, knowing he had a better case there. “They won't work with us because all they know how to do is to follow orders, and that isn't what their current master ordered them to do.” This sparked another stunned silence. Few people other than the most rabid anti-UEG zealots ever spoke of humanity's greatest heroes in such terms. Locke braced himself before continuing. “I have been authorized to reveal to you the origins of the Spartan II program. The real origins; not the propaganda. Note that this is Alpha Level privileged information. If any of you speak openly of what you learn here, you will face charges of treason.”

The other members of Fireteam Osiris stared at Locke. He knew he had their undivided attention. He proceeded to explain to them the true origins of Blue Team, using his encrypted compad to display classified documents on the wall's viewscreen. He explained how they were abducted as children. How they were trained and indoctrinated. How they had no real will of their own. How Dr. Halsey, their mother figure, had used her bond with them to subvert their loyalty to the UNSC. All of the facts that were the conventional wisdom of ONI's higher ups. All of the 'facts' that Locke was beginning to doubt himself.

Locke made sure to keep his inner thoughts off of his face. It was rather easy; he had years of practice at it.

The members of Fireteam Osiris looked stunned once again. They had just been inducted into a very select group of informed individuals. None of the other Spartan IVs, not even their leader, Commander Palmer, knew the truth about the Spartan IIs. Locke doubted even Captain Lasky knew.

“This can't be...” Vale said. Her voice was a near whisper.

Buck piped up next. “So this is the kinda shit ONI gets up to when no one's lookin'.” The former ODST shook his head in disgust.

Spartan Locke was tempted to argue with Buck. He could have mentioned the growing Insurrection. He could have argued that the threat of civil war necessitated desperate measures. However, he knew it wouldn't do any good. Locke would just be perceived as an extension of ONI defending unethical behavior. There really wasn't any good answer to this. He changed the subject back to the present.

“Whatever the rationale behind the program,” he argued, “the fact of the matter is that the Spartan IIs are a threat. If they choose to interfere, they could cause the deaths of billions of human beings. Do any of you think we can afford to take that risk?”

None of his squadmates answered. Buck continued to look inscrutable, although Locke thought he could see a bit of contempt and moral outrage in the man's eyes. Tanaka still looked angry, but she seemed to be seeing the wisdom in Locke's words. Vale, though, still looked stunned.

“The Spartans were heroes...” she whispered.

“They still are,” Locke countered. Everyone looked to him in surprise and confusion. Locke decided that, once again, the truth would be the best tool for the occasion.

“The way I see it,” Locke explained, “everyone that ever got a statue made of them of was one kind of son-of-a-bitch or another. Maybe they were womanizers. Maybe they embezzled money. Maybe they were slave owners. No one ever lives up to their own legend. No one.” Locke paused. “But that doesn't mean they aren't heroes.”

Jameson Locke thought back to Jericho VII. He thought back to his childhood, spent worshiping the Master Chief. He thought back to how his imagined hero had inspired him to push himself, to endure, to become better than he ever could have otherwise. He continued his speech.

“Heroes aren't about who the person really was. It's about what people need. People need heroes to inspire them, give them hope. The Spartan IIs gave people hope in the War. They inspired a lot of people to be better.” He paused. “They inspired me to be better. I'm willing to bet they inspired all of us, am I right?” The room was silent again. Locke knew he had struck the truth. “So, Blue Team aren't the paragons we thought they were. So what? They were still as much heroes as anyone ever was...”

The conversation petered out after that. Locke was sure he had given that speech for a purpose, but thinking back, he couldn't quite figure out what it was. Eventually, he continued the briefing. They had a mission to complete.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cargo hatch of the micro-prowler opened. The body of Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey, still contained in its hard-suit, drifted out. The hard-suit was wrapped in one of the sheets from the ship's bunks. There was no coffin; none were available. Besides, the hard-suit had been crushed into the wounds; removing it would have been...rather traumatic, even for the veterans of Blue Team.

The gravity of an unknown star pulled at it. Over the course of a few hours, it was pulled close enough to combust. The good doctor was given a funeral pyre of the 26th Century.

The members of Blue Team watched all the while. They watched as the closest thing any of them had to a mother was taken from them in finality. Dr. Halsey was truly gone.

John fought back tears. He refused to allow the turmoil within his heart to show on his face. He knew he was not completely successful.

Nothing would be able to hide the guilt he felt. The guilt at failing to save her.

Perhaps worse than that was the disorientation. He had relied upon Dr. Halsey to be his moral guide. John had no idea what to do now. How to view himself and the world. He didn't have anything to steady himself, to allow him to regain his psychological footing.

The guilt threatened to overwhelm John again. A fire rose in his chest to squelch it.

Locke. Agent Locke. The one who had attacked them in the Forerunner facility. If it wasn't for him, they might have stopped the Guardian altogether. They might have all come out unscathed. A part of John was sorely tempted to launch a mission with the expressed goal of eliminating the false-Spartan.

The Master Chief shook his head. He couldn't allow himself to be sucked into his own blood vendetta. Such a thing went against everything he had been raised to believe. Everything he had embraced himself. He was to be a protector, not a seeker of vengeance. It was more difficult to center himself than it would have been a year ago. He grew frustrated. A thought jumped into the forefront of his mind.

Cortana.

The only hope he had was that they would be able to find Cortana. Next to Dr. Halsey, the AI had been the smartest person he had ever known. Certainly the best person he had ever truly grown close to, besides the doctor.

They had to find Cortana. She would be able to make everything make sense again. She had to.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kelly cried openly.

Gone.

Dr. Halsey was gone.

Her augmented vision finally lost track of the spark that was the doctor's burning body on the ship's viewscreen. It was either gone or had moved too far away to see.

“Goodbye, mother...” she whispered.

Kelly tried to focus on the good times. She remembered how happy Dr. Halsey had seemed back in the clinic. How much pride her mother had taken in helping the colonists as much as her incredible intellect would allow. There had been an easy contentment in the good doctor that Kelly couldn't recall ever seeing in the woman before.

Then, there had been the conversation. Dr. Halsey had finally opened up about her own emotions. She had told her children of her own guilt; of how she felt she had wronged the people she had come to care most for. Kelly remembered how her mother had burst into tears when they told her that they forgave her.

They had been good tears, though. They had represented a release, not a new pain. Dr. Halsey had seemed happier than ever in the brief time the family had remained together before the end.

The end...

Kelly's tears renewed themselves. She didn't worry about appearing weak. She would cry now, then pick herself up and keep fighting. Her siblings would understand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fred closed his eyes as his chest throbbed in pain. The doctor's body had already disappeared from view.

The injuries inflicted by the Warden Eternal had turned out to be comparatively minor. For a non-augmented human, they would have required extensive surgery. For Fred, it only required some minor treatments from Kelly. The team's medic had learned much during her time as Dr. Halsey's 'apprentice' in the medical clinic. Blue One should be fully combat ready within a matter of days.

Of course, the physical injuries paled in comparison to the emotional ones.

Once again, Fred had failed to save a member of his family. It felt like a story that had been happening more and more as the years went on. If only he had been able to beat that giant freak back in the control center, none of this might have happened.

Fred shook his head. He knew better than to think like that. There was no way to know what might have happened. A soldier had to deal with what did happen; anything else was something that should be left to historians and arm-chair generals.

Knowing that didn't make it much easier.

Why did she have to do it? Why had Dr. Halsey left cover to access that console? Was it to save his life? He would have gladly died at the hands of the Warden if it meant she continued to live. Why did she have to jump into the line of fire?

A part of him chuckled internally as he realized that such behavior was common amongst Spartans. Perhaps it ran in the family.

The pain in his chest eased just a bit.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Logical.

Linda was determined to remain logical.

Dr. Halsey was dead. There was nothing she could do to change that.

What she could do, was honor her memory. In the significant conversation before the battle, when Dr. Halsey had confessed her emotional perspective to Blue Team, Linda had gotten a sense of what the good doctor had wanted.

Halsey had wanted the Spartans to be individuals. To make their own decisions. To be moral and righteous, but not to let others determine what that meant. Linda reaffirmed her own commitment to no longer be a drone. She would no longer be a puppet the corrupt individuals in positions of power. She would still follow orders, but she would not do so in ignorance. Nor would she do anything she believed to be immoral.

So. That left the question of 'What next?'.

The current mission to stop the Guardians was important. Billions of lives potentially hung in the balance. Defeating this threat was as close to an objective good as there could be. Linda would help the rest of Blue Team meet this threat and crush it. What came next, came next.

There was a sob in the cabin of the micro-prowler. Linda frowned as she failed to recognize it. It didn't sound like Kelly, the most likely source of an emotional outburst. Nor did it sound like John or Fred. It sounded feminine, actually.

Linda's eyes widened as she realized that she had been the one who sobbed. He jaw nearly dropped open as she caught her own reflection in one of the computer consoles.

She was crying.

A hand was placed on Linda's shoulder. It was Kelly's. She looked at Linda with a sympathetic expression; her own eyes were still red with tears.

Linda reached up to brush the hand off. She appreciated the sentiment, but she did not require such assurances. To her surprise, Linda found her own hand clutching at Kelly's rather than brushing it off. What was going on?

Linda continued crying. Soon, John and Fred joined Kelly in comforting her. Soon, every remaining member of the family was holding one another. They leaned on each other as the pain swept over them all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fred, Linda, and Kelly were asleep. They were lying completely still in their bunks, aside from their breathing. They slept the sleep of the physically and emotionally exhausted.

John had been unable to join them. He was looking at a picture on one of the computer consoles.

It was a profile picture. It displayed a man; Linda had researched him before the funeral. He was dark of skin, probably of African descent. His skin tone reminded John of Sgt. Avery Johnson, a Marine friend from the War with similar pigmentation. The skin color was the only shared trait. Johnson had been a true soldier, an honorable man. In another world, he may have been a Spartan himself.

The man in the picture was shaved bald. He had a distinctly non-regulation goatee covering his chin and upper lip. The man had clearly taken some liberties with the leeway often afforded to special forces soldiers.

_And ONI assassins_ , John thought with a scowl.

The console continued to display Jameson Locke's face. John continued to stare at it. He memorized every feature. Every crease and line. Every blemish.

John stared at Locke's image long into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks. 
> 
> Note: Last time I said this chapter would largely be set up for the Sanghelios arc. Unfortunately, time and pacing have made me a liar. I just couldn't justify cramming more exposition into a chapter that included the funeral scene. Next time will definitely have more set-up, though. Maybe even a fight scene.
> 
> Note: In canon, most of the named characters are aware of the true origins of the Spartan II program. I always thought that was stupid, particularly because it never actually leads to anything. Everyone just sort of goes along with it. The most reaction anyone really gives is Commander Palmer, who gets pissy and blames the whole thing on Dr. Halsey. I decided to retcon it here. 
> 
> Note: Yes, that was a Firefly reference. Nathan Fillion is in the game. How could I resist?
> 
> Note: Another piece of the puzzle that is Locke falls into place. This one is heavily inspired by the 'All Hail' trailer. 
> 
> Note: Locke's perspective on heroes is similar to my own, although I'm a lot less cynical about it. I think heroism is a real thing and people can and do act heroically. However, the way we remember heroes has normally been through a rose-colored filter. Acts get exaggerated, faults and vices get downplayed or forgotten. It doesn't necessarily diminish the heroic deeds people performed, but it can present an inaccurate picture of the individuals themselves. This is true in every nation and region in human history. 
> 
> Note: Some of you might be worried, after the ending of this chapter, that John is going to join Cortana on her 'conquer the galaxy' plan. Don't worry, this won't be happening. In fact, I've cut that plotline entirely. Cortana will not be a villain in this fic in any way, shape, or form. She will be relevant and I won't spoil how, but not in the way the game did things. Seriously, screw Halo 5's plot. Freaking character assassination at its finest. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

Twin moons shone reflected sunlight upon the ancient keep. The last of the three suns had set some hours before. It was now as dark as it ever was upon the world of Sanghelios.

 

Kaidon Thel 'Vadam gazed out the window of his bedchamber, inspecting his family's ancestral home. The heart of his new nation. The ancient stone buildings his ancestors had built still stood, serving their purpose as shelters and defenses for the heirs of 'Vadam. The newer buildings, built during the reign of the Covenant, had been torn down. The newer constructions, while built of the same advanced metals as the destroyed Covenant buildings, were modeled on the architectural style of the pre-Covenant era. The time before the San 'Shyuum Prophets and their lies.

 

'Vadam spread his lower mandibles in a silent snarl. The memories of his years of service to those treacherous worms ate at him still. Never again would he be so fooled. Never again would he lead his people down paths meant to culminate in their destruction.

 

The San 'Shyuum had given him the title of 'Arbiter' as a mark of shame. They had twisted the ancient, hallowed position to serve their own ends, like they had everything in their wretched domain. 'Vadam had spent the last six stellar cycles reclaiming it. Restoring its true meaning: he was the ruler of the Sangheili. More than that, he was its guide. It was he who would judge the paths available to his people and proclaim which was correct. It was a duty he had performed and would continue to perform. He was Kaidon, ruler of Vadam Keep, and he was Arbiter, rightful king and judge of Sanghelios.

 

The door to his bedchamber opened noiselessly. The silent alarm 'Vadam had installed himself was the only reason he had noticed the entry at all. He had anticipated this visit. His upper mandibles spread in a grin. It had been far too long since he had entertained assassins in his home.

 

The Arbiter counted four distinct footsteps. They were just barely audible, even to his practiced ear ridges. He felt mildly insulted. Four enemies, regardless of skill, would hardly be a challenge to a warrior as accomplished as he.

 

Three of the assassins hung back as one advanced behind 'Vadam. Judging by the footsteps, the Arbiter deduced that his enemy intended to stab him in the back with a metal blade. A classic move, if still a cowardly one. The Kaidon took care to give no sign that he had noted his assailants' entry. His enemy advanced to within two strides of his position.

 

The assassin sprung forward with a burst of speed. The Arbiter pivoted out of the way, grabbed his foe's arm as it thrust past, and pulled his enemy onto his energy blade just as it sprang into life. The assassin's eyes showed shock in the fraction of a second before the light left them. The Arbiter allowed the lifeless body to fall from his blade. He turned to face the remaining assassins.

 

There was a crackle-hiss as the enemies activated their own energy blades. The otherwise silent room was filled with the hum of the weapons. There was no longer any point in trying to avoid the notice of their target.

 

Two of the assassins rushed forward. The Arbiter parried a swing of one and dodged the stab of the other. He then lunged and rolled into a position where one enemy was blocked by the body of the other. Now facing only one opponent, 'Vadam pushed the attack.

 

The Arbiter struck ferociously. Relentlessly. Within moments, he had overwhelmed the defenses of the assassin. He cut his assailant in two before the second enemy could maneuver into a position to strike.

 

The second assassin proved far more skilled than his predecessor. 'Vadam struck. The assassin parried. 'Vadam swung. The assassin ducked.

 

Skilled as he was, the assassin never really stood a chance. He remained on the defensive for the entire duel, unable to gain an advantage. Eventually, the Arbiter baited him into overextending himself on a strike. The Arbiter slipped past, slashing the inside of his enemy's upper knee joint as he did so. The assassin stumbled. He collapsed to one knee. To his credit, he attempted to twist his body and block the Arbiter's coming strike.

 

It was in vain.

 

Before he could even raise his blade into position, the assassin had been decapitated by the Arbiter's lightning-fast swing.

 

One enemy remained. The Kaidon turned to face the remaining assassin. He had hung back, doubtless hoping that his comrades would at least wound their target and make his job easier. 'Vadam snorted in disgust. Even for assassins this one was contemptible.

 

The enemy turned and sprinted for the door to the bedchamber. The sound of his hoofs hitting the stone tiles echoed over the hum of the energy blades. He startled as he found the door locked. 'Vadam spread his mandibles in another grin. He had not allowed this visit only to have his guests leave early.

 

Finding his primary means of escape blocked, the assassin turned toward the window. He found the Arbiter standing just before it. Fueled by desperation, the assassin roared and charged his erstwhile target. He couldn't have expected to win the duel. Doubtless he hoped only to slip by and escape with his miserable life.

 

The Arbiter calmly drew a plasma pistol and shot his enemy in the head. The assassin crumpled lifelessly to the floor. 'Vadam could have almost certainly beaten him, but desperate foes tended to be unpredictable. He might have tried for an attack that was utter madness and thus caught 'Vadam unprepared. He was not in the habit of taking unnecessary risks.

 

The intercom on the interior wall buzzed. The voice of one of his elite guard sounded throughout the room, asking after its lord's status. The Arbiter strode towards the door, past the crumpled bodies of his would-be killers, and activated the viewscreen to the right of his door. Seeing members of his guard that he personally recognized in the hallway, he unlocked the door.

 

The guards entered the room, keeping weapons trained on every corner. Mahlo 'Turagg, 'Vadam's Chief of Security, entered after they declared the room secured.

 

“The chamber guards?” the Arbiter asked.

 

“Dead, my Kaidon,” 'Turagg replied somberly. The Arbiter contracted his mandibles in a grimace. It had been expected, but he still ached at the sacrifice of his warriors.

 

“See that their families are cared for,” he ordered.

 

“Of course, my Kaidon,” 'Turagg replied. “What of 'Mbanus?” he asked, referring to the rival keep that had sent these assassins. 'Turagg had learned of their plot some time ago. However, the Arbiter had decided to let it go through.

 

“Call a meeting of the Elders. Their Kaidon will be executed and his children stripped of all titles. Their lands and assets will be taken possession of by the Swords of Sanghelios,” the Arbiter replied with a grin. His new nation had need of every asset it could acquire to defeat the Storm Covenant.

 

Opposing an Arbiter in a time of war merited the sternest of discipline. It was rather convenient that one of the Arbiter's staunchest critics, and one of the greatest obstacles to his vision of a unified Sanghelios, would make such a fatal misstep. Naturally, he had been all too eager to oblige him.

 

Chief of Security 'Turagg bowed his head and left to perform his Kaidon's bidding. The Arbiter himself turned and strode back to his window, allowing the stewards to go about the task of ridding his bedchamber of the assassins' remains. He looked out the window once more. His keep seemed even brighter than it had minutes ago.

 

Despite his wrath, 'Vadam did not hate the people of 'Mbanus Keep. On the contrary, he had only the best intentions for them. They were Sangheili as he was Sangheili. They were his people, and he lived only to serve his people. The Arbiter's mandibles spread in a grin once again.

 

He would drag their clan to glory whether they liked it or not.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“The Guardian is _where_?” the Master Chief asked. He couldn't have heard correctly.

 

“Sanghelios,” Linda repeated. She gestured to the computer console she was sitting in front of. “According to the notes Dr. Halsey...left behind...the next Guardian will awaken beneath the Sangheili homeworld.”

 

Blue Team was currently sitting in the main compartment of the micro-prowler. They were attempting to plan the next stage of their operation. 'Attempting' being the key word.

 

The Master Chief shook his head. “Not acceptable. We'll have to find another,” he said resolutely. While the Arbiter and his fledgling nation, the Swords of Sanghelios, were technically allies of the UNSC, the Chief was still hesitant to visit their homeworld. This was the race that had spearheaded the Covenant's attempted extermination of the human species, after all. The Chief thought back to the many battles he had fought alongside the Arbiter and his forces at the end of the Human-Covenant War. The Arbiter had proved a valuable, even essential, ally against the Covenant, but the Master Chief had never been able to forget the horrors that the Sangheili had committed. The billions they had slaughtered. Setting foot on their homeworld, especially in the middle of a brutal civil war, was not something he would do unless there was absolutely no other choice.

 

It turned out there was no other choice.

 

“Sir, I have no idea where any of the other Guardians are located,” Linda answered. “The one on Sanghelios is the only other Guardian Dr. Halsey mentions in her notes. I suspect that she simply hadn't taken the time to pursue that line of investigation, considering how focused she was on locating Meridian's Guardian. If I had even a fraction of her expertise I might be able to discern another location from the Forerunner equipment,” she gestured to the cargo bays where said equipment was stored, “but I simply don't. Sanghelios is our last option.” Linda set her features. The Chief thought he could detect a bit of discomfort behind her characteristic stoic expression.

 

Fred and Kelly seemed as enthusiastic as John felt. They had been through as much horror as he had in their lives.

 

John shook his head again. This was unbelievable.

 

_Cortana might be alive._

 

The thought forced its way back into his conscious mind. He steeled his resolve. If going to Sanghelios was the only option they had, that was where they would go.

 

“Any ideas on how to proceed?” the Chief asked Linda. If anyone knew of a way onto the alien planet, it was Blue Team's unofficial Intelligence Officer.

 

Without saying a word, Linda brought up a news article on the computer console. Apparently, ambassadors from the Swords of Sanghelios would be meeting with a human delegation to discuss terms of an expanded alliance. It was the brainchild of Senator Richard Sekibo, a renowned peace advocate, and would be taking place on the Outer Colony Biko. The goal was to eventually settle on an accord that expanded on the initial peace established in the Treaty of 2552. Matters ranging from military to economic interactions would be discussed.

 

_So this is what we've missed in our time away,_ the Chief thought. He was uneasy with the idea of further allying with the Sangheili. Upon further thought, he dismissed his concerns. Humanity had just gone through the better part of half a century of ceaseless war. It needed peace. If shaking hands with their former butchers was what it took to avert future conflict, the Master Chief was all for it. 

 

The Chief moved to one of the other computer consoles. He spent an hour going over the dossier Linda had compiled on the peace summit.

 

“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked Linda once he had finished.

 

“Yes, actually,” Linda replied. “It seems that a local militia group calling itself 'Sapien Sunrise' has been raising concerns amongst the local security. The officers in charge of the event believe the militia have amassed weapons and may attack the delegates. They've requested reinforcements and further security measures multiple times. Each request was denied.”

 

The Master Chief was perplexed. “Any idea why?” he asked. If anything, there should be excessive security for an event of this magnitude.

 

“I suspect ONI involvement,” Linda answered. “The denial emails appear to be automated responses, which would indicate simple incompetence, but that just doesn't make any sense. I can't prove it, but I have a gut feeling that ONI intercepted and denied their requests.”

 

“Why would they do that? Do they _want_ another war?” Kelly asked. 

 

“Nothing they do could surprise me anymore,” Fred snorted. The other Spartans nodded in agreement. They had all become thoroughly disillusioned in regard to ONI's honorability and competence. Something so shortsighted would be dirty and idiotic enough to fit the Spartans' new opinion of their former parent organization.

 

“So what's the plan, sir?” Fred asked. “We swoop in, save the day like big damn heroes, and get a free ticket to Sanghelios?”

 

“It might not be that simple,” Linda interjected. “Even if we go at top speed we won't make it to Biko before the summit begins. If there is an attack, we might just miss it.”

 

“Unacceptable,” the Chief stated. “This is the best shot we have. Is there any way to push the engines to get us there in time?”

 

“No, sir,” she replied. “My calculations already factored in pushing the engines to 120%. Anything more and we risk a catastrophic engine failure.” She paused. “I do, however, have an idea...”

 

The way Linda trailed off was not comforting in the least.

 

“Let's hear it, then, Blue Two,” the Master Chief ordered.

 

“Well,” Linda began, “I was examining the Forerunner equipment we recovered from Meridian...”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Buck was walking with Tanaka and Vale, heading to the showers after a training session, when a familiar voice called his name.

 

“Buck?! Holy shit, sir, is that you?!”

 

Buck whirled towards the voice. Sure enough, there he was.

 

“Romeo? What in the holy hell are you doin' here?” he asked the ODST. He pulled the Sergeant and squad leader into a back-slapping hug.

 

“Just keepin' an eye on the sorry bunch of malcontents you saddled me with,” Sergeant Kojo 'Romeo' Agu replied, pointing to the trio of ODSTs behind him. Buck's face lit up even more. It had been a while since he'd seen his old ODST squad.

 

“Good to see you again, sir,” Corporal Taylor 'Dutch' Miles said, shaking Buck's hand with his gorilla-strong grip. Buck suppressed a wince. How in the hell was Dutch still able to pull that off? Buck had figured those days were over now that he was augmented.

 

“Ditto that, boss,” Corporal Michael 'Mickey' Crespo added, shaking Buck's hand with his considerably lower strength. Mickey had always been the physically weakest of them, but his skills in demolitions and piloting had saved their asses more often than Buck could count.

 

The last of the crew, Lance Corporal James 'Rook' DeMarco, simply walked up to Buck, slapped him on the shoulder, and nodded respectfully. Buck smiled and nodded in response. The newest member of the team had always been a man of few words. Buck figured that a soldier whose stealth skills made Buck himself look like a Brute with stomach ache was just naturally quiet. In all his time commanding the man, Buck had only heard him speak maybe a dozen words out loud.

 

“Ya gonna introduce us to your buddies, Buck?” Tanaka asked. She and Vale moved forward, apparently eager to talk to someone other than Locke. Their squad leader had pissed off to wherever he went as soon as the exercise had been over. Buck, Tanaka, and Vale had silently decided that this was for the best.

 

“Sure thing,” Buck replied. “Fireteam Osiris, this is Alpha Nine, my old ODST squad. Alpha Nine, this is Fireteam Osiris, my new Spartan squad.”

 

“So you're the guys the Gunny ran off with,” Romeo said with a grunt. “Ya know, sir, you could have at least come up with a replacement so I wouldn't have to take charge when ya left.”

 

“Yeah, he's Mister Serious now, if you can believe it,” Mickey chuckled. “All 'protocol' this and 'follow procedure' that. It's freaky. I swear, it's been at least a month since he was last reprimanded for sexual misconduct!” Vale actually giggled in response. Mickey's eyes became riveted on the Spartan. “See, guys? She thinks I'm funny.”

 

“Given how big the damn galaxy is, I guess _someone_ was going to,” Dutch joked, shoving Mickey's shoulder. Mickey made a face; Buck was surprised he didn't literally stick his tongue out. They all had a good laugh at that.

 

“What in the hell...?” a voice none of them recognized called out. They had found themselves walking into the recreation area of this part of the _Infinity._ Unlike normal, everyone in the room, from Spartans to PFCs, was dead silent. They were all watching the news broadcasts displayed on the viewscreens lining one of the walls. Buck didn't blame them.

 

The Master Chief was on the broadcast. Rather, security footage of the Master Chief was. Going by the text scrawl at the bottom of the screen, the footage was from the Sangheili/Human peace summit that was taking place on Biko.

 

The now-terminated peace summit, judging by the fact that the video showed the Master Chief gunning down the personnel.

 

The newscasters were at a loss to explain the events. It appeared that the Master Chief had appeared in a flash of light, like he had somehow teleported in, and then started slaughtering everything in sight. There was no word as to the status of any of the delegates, although reports indicate that they were abducted by the apparently-rogue hero.

 

_Wait a minute..._

 

Buck watched the video feed more closely. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he noticed some signs of tampering in the feed. It was nothing explicit, but his time with Veronica had given him a better than average understanding of doctored footage. It could just be his bias in favor of the Chief talking but he would swear that the video had been edited in at least a few parts. Question was, who would do something like that? And why?

 

“Pssh, figures,” a nearby ODST said. Buck didn't recognize him, but judging by his appearance and accent he'd guess that the guy was new to the ODSTs and an Inner Colonist, to boot. Both of those tended to be people that weren't as affectionate towards the Spartans as other soldiers. Buck and Alpha Nine being the some of the exceptions.

 

“Excuse me?” Tanaka asked in a low, dangerous tone. “You wanna say that again, kid?”

 

Vale moved forward. She was clearly trying to diffuse the situation. “Tanaka, maybe this isn't--”

 

Tanaka interrupted her. “Hang on, Vale, I wanna hear this.” She looked the ODST dead in the eye. “Go on. Repeat what you just said.”

 

There was a sound of rustling throughout the room. Several dozen soldiers, augmented and non-augmented alike, had risen to their feet. This could get bad.

 

“I said, 'It figures'” the ODST practically spat. “Goddamn freaks like you always snap in the end--”

 

The ODST twerp was interrupted by Tanaka's fist knocking out several of his teeth.

 

All hell broke out at that. Shouts were exchanged, some defending the Chief, some attacking him. Mostly, though, people argued with their fists.

 

Osiris and the rest of the Spartan IVs were all unified in their defense of the Chief. When trouble came, you closed ranks. The Spartans were generally able to outclass the rest, but they were outnumbered, and everyone here was a trained combatant. Things were starting to get nasty.

 

A gunshot sounded after what felt like a year of brawling. It was louder than almost any infantry weapon. It sounded like a goddamn tank round. It had the desired effect, though, as all of the brawlers stopped their fighting and turned to the main entrance.

 

Standing there was Captain Lasky as well as several fully geared-up Spartan IVs, including their leader, Commander Palmer. She lowered her rifle, the blank round she had fired having served its purpose.

 

Every soldier in the room stood at attention. Well, the ones that still could, anyway.

 

The Captain took several steps forward. He somehow seemed to make eye contact with every soldier present. Protocol was the only thing that kept them all from hanging their heads in shame.

 

“You're all confined to quarters until further notice. The most injured of you will report to sick bay. Move out.” The Captain didn't need to shout. Didn't need to scold them. They all knew what they had done. How they had failed him. They filed out of the room. No one dared make a sound.

 

Buck and his squadmates separated from the members of Alpha Nine. He'd have to catch up with them later. He noticed Palmer shake her head in disappointment as he and the other Spartan IVs passed by. He knew they'd all be paying for this later.

 

Whoever faked that video sure had stirred up a hornets' nest.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Master Chief felt distinctly uncomfortable as he stowed his assault rifle on his back. He was once again inside an alien ship, surrounded by Sangheili. Unlike most of the other times this had happened in his life, he was not fighting them. Also unlike most of the other times, they were not actively trying to kill him. In fact, they seemed to be showing him...respect?

 

Yes, this was definitely unnerving.

 

The door to what appeared to be a conference room switched from red to blue as it opened. The door split vertically in the center, the seam broken by a half-circular portion halfway between the floor and the ceiling. The Chief remembered that this portion contained the locking mechanism.

 

Cortana would not be hacking these mechanisms. Another difference from his previous sojourns into the belly of the beast. The Chief focused on the task at hand.

 

The ship was named _The Hopeful Messenger_ , the Sangheili frigate-analogue that had transported the alien delegates to Biko. The Master Chief had escorted the delegates to their transport, eliminating the domestic terrorists along the way, and then accompanied them back to the ship that had ferried them here from their homeworld. He had been the only Spartan present. The teleportation tech that they had taken from Meridian could only handle a single passenger without blowing out the micro-prowler's reactor.

 

The Shipmaster sat in a hovering chair above and in front of the head of an oval table. The room was colored a dark burgundy in contrast to the bluish-purple that the old Covenant had favored. The Chief approached the foot of the table. He heard the guards that had escorted him take position on either side of the door. They would doubtless kill the Chief within moments if he took any hostile action.

 

The Master Chief put his right fist to his chest and bowed slightly in an imitation of a Sangheili salute. This particular alien race was obsessed with honor and respect. The Chief knew he'd need to get on their good side to accomplish his objective.

 

“Greetings, Shipmaster,” he said.

 

“Hail, Spartan. I thank you for rescuing our delegates,” the Shipmaster said. The Chief grimaced internally as he remembered his failure to save the human ambassador, Senator Sekibo. He pushed the shame to the back of his mind. The Shipmaster continued, “Although I am curious that you requested this meeting. Particularly the fact that you insisted that it remain secret.” The ridge over the alien's right eye arched in a passable imitation of a raised eyebrow. It seemed the Chief was not the only one attempting to meet the other half-way. Excellent.

 

“Of course, Shipmaster,” the Chief said respectfully. He thought he could taste a bit of bile at addressing a Sangheili officer with such respect. Once again, he suppressed his emotions. “I have a rather...significant request. I am on a covert mission,” the Chief half-lied. He was indeed on a mission, albeit one of his own initiative. “I am pursuing an objective that will save countless lives, both human and Sangheili.” The Chief paused. He decided to be blunt. Sangheili seemed to respect that more than adding superfluous, cushioning words to a statement. “I require passage to Sanghelios. My team of 3 other Spartans will have to accompany me. It must remain secret.”

 

The Shipmaster's 4 mandibles flared outward. The Chief guessed it was a sign of shock or surprise. Sanghelios was considered sacred ground to the Sangheili. Even during the time of the old Covenant, few non-Sangheili were permitted to walk its surface. Only those who directly served the noble families were allowed.

 

“Surely you jest!” the Sangheili responded. “What cause could you possibly have that would convince me to permit such a passage?”

 

The Master Chief braced himself once again. He wished he had received some sort of diplomatic training. He decided to play the only trump card he had. “I'm afraid I will only be able to inform the Arbiter himself of my mission. I request you contact him yourself for permission.”

 

Again, the Shipmaster's mandibles flared. Although the Chief thought he could detect anger in it now along with the shock. He also thought he could hear a faint growling. The Sangheili had evolved as a predatory species; he would have to tread carefully.

 

“Had you not done us such a service, I would have you thrown into space!” the Shipmaster growled. The alien officer seemed to compose himself. “However...I will oblige you. For now.” There was another pause. “Just who shall I say is making this request?”

 

“Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117,” the Chief replied simply. Once again, the mandibles flared outward in shock.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The Arbiter at last makes his appearance. The whole assassination bit was ripped off of his introduction in the novel The Cole Protocol The book is fairly mediocre, but I liked the worldbuilding, especially the introduction of Kig-Yar culture. 
> 
> Note: Another reference. This one's to Mass Effect 2. 
> 
> Note: Those of you familiar with the canon will notice that the continued existence of Alpha Nine is a significant deviation from canon. Again, I figured there wasn't any point to writing this fic if I wasn't going to try to fix what I view as mistakes in official stories. For those of you that don't know, in official canon the Rookie (here nicknamed 'Rook' in a lift from the fanfic Consequences of Revelation. If you haven't read it, do so. Now. You won't be disappointed.) was killed, Dutch retired, and Mickey became an Insurrectionist. Yes, Mickey, the plucky comic relief from Halo 3 ODST, defected to the 'United Rebel Front', betraying his squadmates in the process. I couldn't let a plot that stupid go un-retconned. 
> 
> Note: Anyone else notice that the events depicted in Hunt the Truth season 1 are completely impossible given the plot of Halo 5? Seriously, when the hell did the Chief have the time to teleport into the peace conference and save the day? He went straight from the Argent Moon to Meridian. Also, where did he get teleportation tech? Yet another reason I think the story underwent massive rewrites late in development. 
> 
> Note: My next posting is going to be something different. It actually won't be a part of this story at all. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning this fic. Far from it. I've just had this idea for a Fallout 3 fanfic for a while now. It always frustrated me how little sense the Capital Wasteland made. What did the people eat? What was the economy? Why is everyone fighting over the Mall even though there appear to be no resources there? Etc., etc. I'm going to keep it to worldbuilding oneshots for now, maybe alternating between them and chapters for Halo 5. Plus, it gives the chance for people who don't want to read all of this story (Over 140,000 words and counting. Holy. Crap.) to experience some of my writing. I figure I'll get more feedback that way.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	24. Ch 23: Meeting an Old Friend

Chapter 23 Meeting an Old Friend

The Master Chief was looking at a planet that, had he seen it 10 years prior, he would have attempted to hit with strategic nuclear strikes. A few thousand of them, in fact.

The planet Sanghelios stared back at him through the viewscreen of the sangheili vessel, _The Hopeful Messenger_. It was like many other garden worlds the Chief had visited, with multiple continents and biomes ranging from frigid tundra to arid deserts. The micro-prowler was currently resting within the alien ship's hangar, covered in an alien tarp. The Arbiter had graciously agreed with the Chief's request that the journey be kept secret. Thus, they had to remove any external sign of their presence.

There were 2 fleets within the sangheili's home star system. They belonged to the Swords of Sanghelios and the Storm Covenant, respectively. Neither of them were firing upon each other. Any battle this close to the planet would result in at least some shots hitting the surface, damaging the sacred ground. A fleet battle was therefore out of the question, as was any kind of orbital bombardment. The sangheili civil war was strictly ground-based on the race's homeworld.

The fleets hung in space roughly half-way between the planet and its closest moon. If either side violated the naval ceasefire, all their opponent would have to do was move to a closer orbit around Sanghelios, thus forcing all fire to stop. Only a few vessels were permitted to land on the planet without being fired upon while still on approach. _The Hopeful Messenger_ was not one of them.

A sangheili approached the Spartans within the observation room. He wore ornate scarlet armor, marking him as a 'zealot', roughly the equivalent of a mid-ranking commissioned officer. “Hail, Spartans,” he said, pressing his right fist to his chest in a salute. The Chief returned the gesture, still feeling uncomfortable with it. The alien continued, “We must load your vessel within one of our transports if we are to keep it concealed. I ask you to accompany me to the hangar.” The Chief nodded and moved to follow him. The rest of Blue Team followed close behind.

The Spartans boarded the micro-prowler. A minute later, the human ship was loaded into the cargo bay of a sangheili transport. From this point until landing, the Spartans would be in the dark. They would be taken to the surface and loaded into a ground transport which would transport them to a secure location. The shipmaster had not offered them access to the transport's external camera system, for obvious reasons. The human warriors took the opportunity to once again inspect their equipment.

All of their armor had taken damage back on Meridian. Linda was the best off, with little in the way of damage other than a few scrapes on her chest plate from where the ODST lookalike had kicked her. Kelly's had several marks from the bizarre drones' rifle-analogues. Fred had a large dent across his front midsection from where the Warden Eternal had struck him. The Chief's damage was more noticeable, at least to him: there was a crack on the right side of his visor. A transparent film had been applied to seal the breach, but there was no fixing the super strong material; it would have to be replaced. Naturally, they did not have the means to do that. The mark served as a continuous reminder of what he had lost on Meridian...of what had been taken from him.

Blue Team also lacked the means to replace their armaments. Fred's DMR, Linda's sniper rifle, and Kelly's shotgun had all been lost or destroyed on Meridian. They were forced to use the standard issue assault rifles and sidearms that they had recovered from the _Argent Moon_. The only upside was that Fred had managed to keep hold of his energy blade.

The Chief felt the transport take off. They were on their way. He tried to suppress the feeling unease.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Linda looked at her broken rifle. Nornfang. It had been her constant companion for over 3 decades of continuous war. It had seen her through countless battles. It had saved her life on countless occasions. The Spartan sniper had customized it as she went. Everything from the chamber to the scope had been modified and re-modified as she strove to perfect her personal weapon. It was her prize possession, its importance to her surpassed only be her family and her duty.

Now Nornfang was dead.

It was bent at a significant angle by the blow of the Spartan IV back in the Forerunner complex. The barrel was irreparably damaged, as were numerous other parts of the weapon. Some of it could be salvaged, but so much would have to be replaced that it would effectively be a completely different weapon. Nornfang was gone.

Just like Dr. Halsey.

Linda sighed and replaced the ruined sniper rifle in the crate serving as her personal locker. She moved back into the main compartment of the micro-prowler. She removed the assault rifle from her back and inspected it for the umpteenth time. She bit back a grimace of disgust. This weapon was far too inaccurate for her skillset.

The transport touched down on the alien planet. The Spartans felt the micro-prowler being loaded into the ground transport. Some time later, they were informed to disembark. They emerged to find themselves within a sangheili stronghold.

The transport had deposited them into the courtyard of some kind of fortress. There were several buildings, mostly composed of stone and wood, although there were some more modern constructions here and there. The fortifications and checkpoints, for example, had been fully modernized. Plasma cannons and deployable energy barricades lined the wall to the entire complex. Linda could see a large population center, a city really, just beyond the walls. She surmised that they were within the heart of the Arbiter's new nation. The capital itself.

She idly reflected that this would be the perfect place to deposit a tactical nuclear warhead.

Linda banished those thoughts, careful not to shake her head or give any other external sign of her inner conflict. The Arbiter was an ally now. The humans and the sangheili may never be friends, but they could at least be peaceful with each other. She was not about to do anything that could lead to a needless war.

The main building was tall, roughly 10 floors, each of which had its own downward sloping roof-like extension. The top-most floor had a railing surrounding the edges, suggesting it was meant for observation. Curiously, each of the roof-life surfaces curved upward at the corners. The building materials were largely carved stone and hard wood. Linda wondered what tactical purpose such design could possibly serve.

The dominant color was, naturally, burgundy, with various other shades of red mixed in. Also present were white upon the sides and black on the roof-like portions. Green was also present in the form of numerous plants spread around the complex. The Spartan thought she could see the edge of a garden on the far side, just past the rear of the main building.

The Spartans were led into the main structure without fanfare. No diplomats or high ranking officers were outside to greet them. Excellent. The Arbiter had taken the secrecy seriously. Linda resisted the urge to run to the building and thus minimize the time spent outside. They needed to avoid as many eyes as possible. The zealot took the lead, the lower ranking warriors taking position to the Spartans' sides and rear.

The rest of Blue Team was not as successful at hiding their unease as Linda was. It might be invisible to an outsider, but to Linda their posture and movements clearly showed that they were on edge. Apparently, the sangheili were better at reading humans than she thought, because their guide seemed to notice her siblings' discomfort despite their armor and polarized visors. Or maybe he just made an educated guess.

“Fear not, Spartans. We are within the Arbiter's inner keep. There are neither eyes nor ears here which are not loyal to him,” he said. “I pray you realize the honor he bestows upon you with such an audience.”

“We recognize it and appreciate it. We are...indebted to him,” the Master Chief replied. He wasn't quite able to keep the hesitance out of his voice. Hopefully the guide wouldn't notice that.

The lower levels were strictly utilitarian in decoration. Hard stone and metals dominated, with multiple fortified positions at natural choke points. Linda was impressed. Taking this location would be obscenely bloody. Once they had ascended stairs to the upper levels, the aesthetic changed entirely.

It was strangely...peaceful. Gentle beige and various light colors dominated the halls and what rooms they could see. Linda had expected more burgundy or even some kind of blue. Houseplants were spread liberally throughout the halls. The walls were largely thin, almost transparent, paper. She could see sunlight coming through some of them. Most of the other surfaces were wooden rather than any more sturdy materials.

This was not the type of setting that any of Blue Team was accustomed to. Particularly not where the sangheili were involved. The closest they had ever come to this were military outposts, or perhaps the massive, 30 km wide space station _Unyielding Heirophant_. This, though, felt like something entirely different.

This felt like the kind of home someone would have in peacetime. It was a civilian place. This was a side of alien society Linda had never visited, nor even really given much thought to.

The guide led them to a massive, solid double door. There were 4 guards standing to either side, each of whom was armed with plasma rifles and energy swords. They were even taller than the average sangheili, probably approaching 2.5 meters. Their armor was the thickest Linda had ever seen. She would bet that they had the strongest energy shields, as well.

“Only the de—only your leader may enter,” the guide said. Linda knew that he had almost said 'demon', the name that the Covenant had given the Master Chief during the War. Linda felt a bit of pride that their efforts had made such a lasting impact. Perhaps the presence of Spartans would act as a more effective deterrent than she had expected.

The guide continued, “I must ask that you continue alone from here. You must your weapons here,” he gestured at a table just before the doors. “Your clan-mates may guard them.”

This was not part of the plan. The Spartans needed the Arbiter's help, but she had no intention of allowing her leader to enter the heart of the sangheili stronghold alone, never mind unarmed. Linda had no intention of losing _another_ member of her family on this mission.

However, the Master Chief simply nodded. A green light winked on the inside of Linda's visor. He was ordering them to go along with this. Linda nearly ground her teeth in frustration, but an order was an order. She watched as the Chief removed his assault rifle and his pistol. He removed the magazines and worked back the slides, making sure to show the guards the empty chambers. He also drew his combat knife and placed it alongside the other weapons. The guide nodded at one of the guards, who opened one of the double doors far enough for the Chief to move through. He did so. The guard shut the door, removing the Master Chief from sight.

Now they had to wait.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Whatever I was expecting, it certainly wasn't this_ , the Master Chief thought.

He wasn't sure what he expected the Arbiter to choose for their meeting place. A throne room. A briefing chamber. A training ground. Some deep, dark sub-basement where the clandestine meeting would be most likely to go unnoticed. Anything but what he found in reality.

It was a garden.

Trees and smaller flora filled the room. Streams of clear water ran alongside paths of cobblestones. Shafts of sunlight streamed in from windows placed high up the walls, just below the ceiling. Off to the far side was a large floor of sand, combed into patterned lines and dotted with stones. The Chief was alone in the room.

Aside from the Arbiter.

The Arbiter, also known as Kaidon, also known as Thel 'Vadam, regarded the Chief with a steady expression. His head was serpent-like, as was normal for his kind. His 4 mandibles, arranged horizontally two on either side where a human's jaw would be, were pulled tight. The Chief was unsure exactly what that signified. The scales that covered the Arbiter's body were a dark gray. His eyes were yellow with vertical, reptilian slits instead of pupils. Like most sangheili, he was approximately 2.4 meters in height, with a slightly hunched back and digitigrade legs.

More noticeable was the Arbiter's clothing. And it was clothing, not armor. It resembled a kimono from the ancient Japanese cultures. They were brown and tan, with only a thin strip of gold around the collar marking his high status. His hoofs were without any covering, needing none. The Master Chief approached the Arbiter. The two saluted each other. The Arbiter's fist featured two long fingers with an opposable digit on either side. The 2 warriors finished the salute.

There was a brief silence. Neither seemed sure what to say.

The Arbiter broke the silence first. “It has been...some time, Spartan.”

The Chief was unsure how to reply. “Yes. It has.”

The Arbiter tilted his head slightly. “It is customary to at least reveal your face upon meeting another within his own keep.” There didn't seem to be any chastisement in his voice. Rather, there seemed to be...curiosity?

Under any other circumstance, the Master Chief would have refused. For his entire life he had hidden his face. To reveal it, and expose his head to attack, went against decades of habit. However, he was dependent upon the Arbiter's hospitality. His assistance would be crucial to the success of his mission.

The Master Chief reached up, and removed his helmet. There was a hiss as the pressure equalized. John blinked in the sunlight.

The Arbiter studied him intently for several moments. To John's knowledge, this was the first time the sangheili had ever seen his face. Then, the Arbiter's upper mandibles spread in what the Chief recognized was a grin. “Rather anticlimactic, I must confess,” he said, chuckling. John did his best to smile. It was rather difficult. He didn't exactly have a lot of practice at it. His host gestured behind him, saying, “Come. Let us discuss whatever need has driven you to arrange this meeting.”

The pair walked toward a small patch of empty grass. A sheet had been laid over the ground with a short table placed above it, with cushions on opposing sides. The Arbiter sat on one side, John on the other. The Spartan placed his helmet on the ground next to him within easy reach.

A sangheili servant entered, carrying a tray. A pot and 2 small wooden cups were upon it. The servant bowed in respect to each of them, placing both cups on the table and pouring a steaming clear liquid into them. The servant before bowing once more and left. The Arbiter picked up his cup. John picked up his own, staring at it doubtfully.

“Fear not. It is merely water,” his host assured him. “I would have given you one of customary drinks, but I was unsure what would be appealing to your palate.” John nodded in acceptance. The Arbiter raised his cup in salute. “To alliance, and to the future.”

“To alliance, and to the future,” John said, raising his cup in agreement. They both drank.

“Now,” the Arbiter said, putting down his empty cup, “tell me what great crisis has driven you to seek _my_ aid, of all the people throughout the stars.”

Apparently, nothing more needed to be said. John wondered if the Arbiter found ceremony as distasteful as he did or if the head of state was simply accommodating him. Maybe he had to endure so much tedious diplomatic procedure that this was a chance at relief.

Whatever the reason, John was glad to get down to business. He had a mission to complete. He put down his cup as well. This was the most difficult part, or at least the most risky. Neither he nor any of the other Spartans had been able to come up with a plausible fiction that would enable them to complete their mission without touching off a new war. Lying was simply far too risky here, meaning they would have to tell the truth. He knew that the Arbiter had seen the threat of the Halos. His alien counterpart had even helped destroy both an under-construction Halo and the manufacturing facility that produced them. John could only hope that the Arbiter could see the threat that the new Forerunner superweapons posed to them all.

“Do you remember the Halos?” John asked. The Arbiter froze. John continued, “Don't worry, this isn't about them. It is about another type of Forerunner threat.” The Spartan rallied himself, pushing through his own hesitance. “We call them Guardians.”

The Arbiter's mandibles flared apart. The Spartan got the distinct impression that his host knew exactly what he was talking about. Had Dr. Halsey chosen the name 'guardian' because that was, in fact, what the Forerunners had named them? It would certainly fit with the long-dead civilization's rather grandiose naming conventions. “Had I known less about you, I would hope you spoke in jest,” the Arbiter said in a solemn tone. John thought he could detect a bit of anxiety beneath it. “What has occurred? Have any of them started to wake?”

“Several,” John answered simply. The Arbiter sat back in shock. The Spartan decided now was the time to inform his host of the true nature of his visit. “Someone or something is sending out signals that are activating the Guardians one by one. We believe that the next one to be activated is buried somewhere beneath Sanghelios. My team and I want to find it and stop that from happening, as well as find out where this signal is coming from and travel there to stop it. We would like your...permission to do so.”

For several minutes, the Arbiter simply regarded John in silence. The trickling sound of the streams flowing around them was the only sound other than the pair's breathing. He couldn't be sure, but John thought he could detect anxiety and revelation in the Arbiter's posture and face. Once again, John wished he had some kind of diplomatic training. He and Linda had gone over this extensively, but neither of them were really prepared for this.

Eventually, the Arbiter seemed to return to the present. He looked John dead in the eyes. “This could explain a great deal. Does the Storm Covenant know of these events? Are they tied to them in any way?”

The events on Conrad's Point came back to the Chief. A ball of dark matter settled into his gut. The Storm Covenant had been looking for a Guardian. If they gained control of it it could turn the balance of the entire war. The other races of the galaxy might never be able to stop the religious fanatic at all. The entire galaxy would be at the mercy of a theocracy that had extermination of the human race, and any who did not adhere to its faith, as part of its mandated theology.

How had the Master Chief not considered this? The events that had sent this entire chain of events in motion had happened mere months before, but they felt like a lifetime ago. He simply hadn't thought of the Storm's connection to the Guardians since prior to Meridian. He internally scolded himself for his oversight. The events on the doomed colony must have thrown him more than he thought. The Chief forced himself back to the present.

“'Mdama himself was present for one Guardian's activation, although we don't believe that he was responsible for it,” the Chief responded. “It is entirely possible that he is seeking control of the one here.”

The Arbiter sighed an settled back on his cushion. He looked older and more wearied than the Spartan had ever seen him. In that moment, John thought he could see the burden of the Arbiter's self-imposed responsibilities weighing down on him.

It only lasted a moment, though. The Arbiter rallied himself and once again appeared as strong and vital as John had ever seen him. “The behavior of the Storm Covenant has been...erratic, of late. Jul 'Mdama has been a shell of his former self ever since the Didact abandoned him, but now his forces are acting with utter illogic. They are abandoning crucial positions, reinforcing their presence in areas that have no strategic value. We have nearly achieved victory over them, yet their messages amongst themselves speak overwhelmingly of a coming triumph over the Swords of Sanghelios. I believe that 'Mdama intends to awaken the Guardian of Sanghelios and attempt to harness it to his own purpose.”

This all but confirmed John's fears. Finding the source of the Guardians' activation and stopping them once and for all had become even more important than before, if that was possible.

“I agree to aid you in your quest,” the Arbiter said at last, to the Spartan's immense relief. “Know that I only do this because of need and the high regard in which I hold you. Were any other to ask this, even any other Spartan, I would refuse.” He clapped his hands, summoning the servant from before. “Summon the loremaster. We will have need of his expertise,” he ordered. The servant bowed once again and departed. It seemed that the Guardians were a part of sangheili mythology. It made sense, considering how much of their technology had been reverse engineered from Forerunner tech.

“I beg your pardon, but I have one more request,” John spoke up. The Arbiter turned to him in disbelief.

“I pray you realize how much I have already given you,” he said. He sighed, and motioned for the Spartan to continue.

“My mission is secret, even to the rest of the Spartans. I ask that you tell no one, not even my people, of my purpose here,” John said.

The Arbiter simply stared at him, his mandibles contracted once again. John got the impression that he was thoroughly unamused. His host closed his eyes, and sighed once more. “Very well. I suppose it is the least that I owe you.” He opened his eyes again. There was a pause as they unfocused. The Arbiter seemed to be gazing at something far away.

“And the least I owe the rest of your kind,” he said, quietly.

John was unsure what to make of this. What to say. What _could_ he say? The Arbiter had personally commanded fleets to glass human colonies. Billions had been murdered at his command during his time as a fleetmaster. He had since realized that the san 'shyuum prophets had lied to him, lied to his people, but this was the first time that John had gotten the impression of genuine guilt and remorse from a sangheili for the events of the Human-Covenant War.

The arrival of the so-called 'loremaster' rescued John from having to respond to the Arbiter's comment. The moment was soon forgotten as they planned how to proceed with the essential mission.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Waiting was a part of life for a sniper. You could be laying still for hours waiting for your target to move into the perfect position for a killshot. Linda had once spent over a day slowly crawling her way into a Covenant position, her body protected from enemy sensors by an insulating camouflage sheet, in order to assassinate a high-ranking san 'shyuum. Her patience was legend, even amongst the Spartan IIs.

This wait, however, was becoming unbearable.

The Master Chief had been inside whatever meeting room he had entered for well over an hour. The rest of Blue Team was still waiting just outside the door. It was all Linda could do not to start pacing the floor. She wanted to make sure her brother was alright.

Blessedly, the double doors opened and the Master Chief walked out. He paused as he looked at Linda. He placed 2 fingers on the exterior of his visor and pulled them across—their signal for a smile. Her anxiety must have shown in her body language.

Linda bit back her annoyance. She could almost _feel_ the Chief smile again in response.

“We have permission to conduct our search,” the Chief informed them. That was a relief. They could finally get on with this.

What the Master Chief said next was not as comforting.

“We will be accompanying a group of sangheili academics,” he informed them. “They've been searching for signs of pre-Covenant civilization as well as other pieces of their history that have been lost to time. It seems the Arbiter intends to redirect the course of his people's culture as well as their political allegiances. The academics' scouting activities will provide a good cover for our search.”

_Perfect_ , Linda thought. _We're going to be spending time with the sangheili equivalent of professors and grad students._

As if this whole mission hadn't been tiring enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: One of the biggest missed opportunities for the entire Halo franchise is the lack of interaction between the Master Chief and the now-friendly sangheili forces. Even back in Halo 3 we never get so much as a single conversation between him and the Arbiter. The Chief is now fighting alongside the race that has been committing genocide against his people for nearly 30 years. How does he feel about this? Does he have difficulty trusting him? How does he feel about the Arbiter specifically? This could easily have been the most interesting part of the entire franchise, yet they do nothing with it. In Halo 5 he never even steps foot on Sanghelios. The sheer number of missed opportunities is mind boggling to me. Needless to say, I'm trying to rectify that here.
> 
> Note: The architectural style of the Arbiter's keep is shamelessly ripped off of pictures of feudal Japanese fortresses. I thought this was appropriate considering the Covenant era sangheili culture was basically imperial Japan IN SPACE! Not to mention what glimpses we see of ancient sangheili culture are pretty blatantly based on feudal Japan, most noticeably in Halo Legends.
> 
> Note: I hope I did the meeting between the Chief and the Arbiter justice. I wanted to show ole Arby in his role as Chief of State rather than simply as a warrior. He'll be fighting in epic battles later on, don't worry, but I thought it was important to show the multiple sides to his character. How did I do?
> 
> Note: I'm considering writing a series of one shots focused on Alpha Nine. I don't have anything concrete yet, but I'm thinking of having them fight threats other than the Storm Covenant. Stuff like Kig-Yar pirates and what Jiralhanae forces are left. Let me know if any of you are interest in seeing that.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	25. Ch 24: The Hunt Begins Again

Chapter 24: The Hunt Begins Again

 

The sound of sangheili shouts emanated from a large, circular tent toward the side of the landing pad. Burgundy crates of equipment and provisions were stacked up next to the shelter. Unggoy laborers were preparing to load them aboard the Lich transport ship that would be ferrying Blue Team and their hosts around for the foreseeable future.

 

Whatever argument was taking place within the tent continued to mount as the Spartans approached. The sounds of countless past battles threatened to bury Kelly as she heard the alien language grow louder. It may have been automatically translated by her armor's software, but she could still hear the guttural warbles of the sangheili tongue. It was a sound she had heard on countless planets over the course of her career. On countless battlefields. She pushed back against the memories. The sangheili were their allies, now.

 

The Spartan tasted bile. To Kelly, the sangheili would never truly be allies. They would certainly never be friends. She had seen too many humans, too many civilians, too many defenseless children slaughtered by the alien warriors to ever be comfortable around them. She would prefer to have no interaction with them at all.

 

Still, the Master Chief had given her her orders. They were to cooperate. For now.

 

“It has taken months to approve this voyage. Months!” a sangheili shouted. Blue Team entered the tent and saw 2 of the saurian aliens facing each other over a table. One was clearly military, wearing the plain burgundy armor of a low-ranking soldier, with a bit of scarlet mixed in at various places. Probably their equivalent of a lieutenant.

 

The other sangheili was something entirely different. This one was not wearing armor at all. Rather, he was dressed in form-fitting clothing including a vest, pants, and compact electronic devices on both wrists. Every piece of clothing contained multiple pouches and straps, including the backpack resting on the table. The clothing was colored burgundy, naturally, but it was also clearly not designed for combat. He resembled some kind of camper or field researcher.

 

He was also the one shouting.

 

“The Arbiter agreed to authorize an _academic_ expedition!” he said, loudly. “It is meant to gather knowledge and advance our society, not further a war we are already well on our way to winning!”

 

_This must be our illustrious host_ , Kelly thought. 

 

Cham 'Khebrem was a sangheili academic and medical doctor. He was one of the leaders of the Reclamation Movement, a group dedicated to rediscovering aspects of advanced civilization that had been neglected or cast aside during the time of the old Covenant. He and his comrades argued that the San 'Shyuum, the alien race that filled the religious leadership caste of Covenant society, had deliberately crippled sangheili culture through centuries of cultural manipulation and indoctrination. Sangheili culture prior to the Covenant was supposedly a very different, vibrant thing.

 

The Reclamation Movement was dedicated to both proving this thesis and rediscovering lost arts. This extended into all aspects of civilization, from agriculture to poetry. Apparently, 'Khebrem had been pushing for an expedition to investigate ancient sangheili ruins to find information that had been lost to time. They would also search for herbs and other natural resources that could potentially have medicinal uses for the sangheili. It had been next to impossible to get the resources necessary for such a venture with the civil war in full swing.

 

Now that the war seemed to be winding down, the Movement had been able to convince the Arbiter to lend them the use of a Lich transport as well as several warriors and the necessary armaments to keep the scientific staff safe. The ruins they would be investigating were in Swords of Sanghelios territory, but the Storm Covenant had taken to using small strike teams to penetrate the Arbiter's lands and attack unseen. The Swords' leadership had spun it as a policy born of desperation, a sign of the Storm's impending defeat, but it did jeopardize anyone straying from the more secure areas.

 

Like Blue Team.

 

The Spartans would be tagging along with the academics/social reformists. They would use scanning equipment to search for readings like they had on Meridian. Unlike on the colony world—a world the sangheili had glassed into oblivion, Kelly remembered with a scowl—there were references to what could be the Guardian in ancient sangheili texts. Thus, they would also keep an eye out for any additional information they found in the ancient temples, fortresses, etc.

 

Apparently, the lead researcher was not happy about this development.

 

The sangheili soldier's mandibles were clinging tightly to his face. He was clearly unhappy about being yelled at. The fact that 'Khebrem was an academic, not a warrior, doubtless added to the sting of humiliation. “I understand your frustration,” the soldier said tersely, “but the Arbiter's orders are clear. This is an essential mission that the Spartans have brought to our attention.” He held up a 4-digit hand to stave off another round of argument. “This is not a matter up for debate, loreseeker. We all have our part to play in the Arbiter's grand vision.”

 

Now it was 'Khebrem's turn to pull his mandibles tight. “Of course. As the Arbiter wills.” The soldier did not salute before he left. Apparently, an academic was not worthy of the honor, no matter his tenure. Instead he simply nodded at 'Khebrem and walked out of the tent.

 

'Khebrem turned and regarded the quartet of human super-soldiers. They all stared right back. The alien sighed and steeled his features.

 

“I am Cham 'Khebrem, Grandmaster of the Guild of Historians and a Council Member of the Guild of Healers.”

 

“I am Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra 117, or Master Chief,” the Chief replied. “This is Blue One, Blue Two, and Blue Three,” he said, gesturing toward each of the Spartans in turn.

 

'Khebrem tilted his head. He spoke quietly and swiftly, seemingly to himself, saying, “Responds in ranks and designations rather than names. Indicates prioritization of professionalism over individual glory. Also shows lack of trust, likely stemming from past martial interactions with sangheili. Still willing to cooperate regardless of past. Interesting...”

 

Kelly grew uncomfortable.

 

“I suppose you will require provisions?” their host asked, coming back to the present.

 

“We have our own supplies. Enough solid food for a few weeks, at least,” the Master Chief responded. This would expend the last of the provisions from the _Argent Moon_ , but it was necessary. Sangheili food was theoretically edible by humans but the bacteria and other micro-organisms present in the local cuisine would produce an immuno-reaction in the human's bodies. The last thing any of them wanted to deal with was getting diarrhea in their armor. The Chief continued, “We will require purified water, however.”

 

Their host nodded. “I suppose I should count my blessings,” he said, waving toward the entrance of the tent. “Instruct my assistants where your supplies are so that we may load them onto our transport and be off. We have wasted enough valuable time as it is.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The preparations for the mission weren't even complete before the Master Chief was fighting off an aggressive alien.

 

“I said absolutely not!” he said resolutely.

 

The hovering alien seemed undeterred. Its tentacles, tipped with deceptively powerful cilia, reached for his visor. Frustrated, the Chief leveled his assault rifle at it. All of the aliens present froze. The warriors drew their weapons and aimed them at the Chief. Blue Team drew their own firearms in response.

 

The creature was a huragok, the alien race nicknamed 'engineers' by humanity during the Human-Covenant War. They were bulbous in shape, with a long neck and six-eyed head that looked like a mutated lizard tail. Several tentacles extended from its ventral side, 4 of which were capable of splitting into microscopically fine cilia with which it interacted with the world. They were unparalleled in their mechanical aptitude, able to come to a master-level understanding of nearly any machine or system within minutes. They were even able to use their tentacles to interface directly with computer systems, downloading and storing data within their own bodies. It was theorized that they were not natural lifeforms at all but rather were bio-engineered by the Forerunners. Whatever their origins, they had formed the backbone of the old Covenant's engineering corps.

 

Unfortunately, the huragok's brilliance did not extend to social graces. Some were even incapable of understanding speech, relying upon electronically relayed instructions. The vast majority of them were unable to understand even basic social conventions. Such as 'personal space'.

 

The huragok in question seemed untroubled by the assault rifle leveled directly at its floating form. It bobbed slightly in the wind, the gas-filled bladders on its back keeping it aloft. One of its tentacles reached out and touched the barrel of the Chief's weapon inquisitively.

 

“It would be wise to allow Reaches-Far-Quickly to examine your armor,” 'Khebrem interjected. “He only wishes to repair the damage it has clearly sustained. I assure you, it will be in good hands.”

 

The Master Chief shook his head. “Unacceptable. This is classified UNSC technology. I cannot and _will not_ allow any non-UNSC personnel access to its inner workings.”

 

The huragok, apparently named 'Reaches-Far-Quickly', was becoming engrossed in examining the Chief's rifle. The Chief backed up several steps. The huragok followed him.

 

'Khebrem sighed once again. He pulled out some sort of crystalline device from his pocket. “Reaches-Far-Quickly! Puzzle!” he said, holding the device aloft.

 

The effect was immediate. The huragok abandoned its examination of the assault rifle and giddily floated over to the academic. It snatched the device out of the sangheili's hand and hovered off to the side, its tentacles readjusting the labyrinthine components of its new object of fascination.

 

“I find treats work far more effectively than harsh words when it comes to our most valued technician,” 'Khebrem chuckled. “That puzzle box is one of his favorites. It will keep him occupied for a few minutes, at least.” His face took on what the Chief supposed was a serious expression. “I pray you will excuse his audacity. His curiosity can get the better of him, as his name suggests. I will endeavor to keep him in line from this moment forward.”

 

The Master Chief nodded and lowered his weapon to aim at the ground. The rest of Blue Team followed his lead. The sangheili warriors hesitated a moment, but lowered their weapons as well. The situation was diffused. They all went back to preparing for their journey.

 

Theoretically, there was no reason for the Chief to refuse the huragok's assistance. Back during the War one of its brethren had actually performed that very service, repairing his armor following the battles on Reach and Halo Installation-04. Unfortunately, allies or not, the Spartan was not about to allow foreign science personnel access to state-of-the-art UNSC equipment. The loss of any technological edge was just too high a price. Even the huragok POW that had once repaired his armor during the War had to be immediately executed to prevent the loss of secrets. Somehow, he doubted that killing 'Reaches-Far-Quickly' would be conductive to the current mission.

 

This was also why the Forerunner teleportation equipment he had used on Biko would no longer be of use. The device had stopped functioning immediately after he had used it to enter the embassy; Linda had been unable to even access the cursed thing. There was a high probability that the hurgok might be able to handle it, but the Chief still held out the hope that he could get it back to human hands before having to share it with anyone else.

 

The preparations took a few more hours to complete. Once finished, the expedition immediately boarded their vessel and took off. The hunt was on once again.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_**sp3ct3r101 : *I don't know. The Chief is a hero and all, but even heroes can turn bad.*** _

 

The response to his forum post was immediate and divided.

 

_**frakker332 : *Screw off, ya Inner Colony shill. Where were you when the Chief was defending our asses from the Covies? Prick.*** _

 

_**manos129 : *Damn right they can fall. Mutated freaks get way too much hype, imo.*** _

 

_**r0man227 @  manos129 *WTF is wrong with you?! Spartans are augmented, not mutated. You see any of 'em with 3 arms? And who the hell do you think you are, talking about heroes like that? What have ** _ **you** **_done to protect humanity?*_ **

 

On and on it went. Some defended the Chief's name while others attacked it. One of the most common dividing lines was, once again, Inner Colony vs. Outer Colony. The Outer Colonies were the ones hardest hit during the War. They were the ones who needed heroes the most and, therefore, were the ones who latched on to the legend of the Spartan IIs the hardest. The more secure Inner Colonists were less committed to the super-soldiers.

 

Locke sighed and logged off of waypoint, the modern evolution of the internet. While not life-threatening, this was definitely the most demeaning duty ONI Command had ever assigned him. Writing forum posts trying to further the smear job on the Chief was something normally reserved for other, lower ranking ONI personnel. There were legions of the unassuming cubicle mice toiling away, trying to influence public opinion from behind anonymous usernames.

 

Maybe Command wanted to punish Locke for his failure on Meridian.

 

The smear campaign made sense. Given Osiris' failure to stop the Spartan IIs on Meridian, Command couldn't guarantee that Blue Team's rebellion would stay secret. They needed to mitigate whatever effects that may ripple outward. Locke had to admit it was a good idea.

 

Unfortunately, framing the Chief had sparked a lot of unrest. Tensions that had been simmering beneath the surface were now being brought out, the argument over Chief's guilt or innocence proving an adequate venue to channel frustrations. It wasn't just limited to waypoint forums, either. Reports of unrest were coming in from across UEG space. Genuinely life-threatening peril was being produced.

 

Locke wondered how many people Command was willing to kill to keep up their charade.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The city Heliopolis on the world Charybdis II was engulfed in a food riot. Provisions had been running short for months. People were hungry, cranky, and eager to vent their frustrations. Outer Colonist refugees and native born Inner Colonists were practically snarling at each other, tensions were so high. The supposedly legitimate video of the Master Chief murdering diplomats had pushed everyone over the edge.

 

Car alarms and the sound of smashed glass echoed clearly into the empty street. Veronica Dare grimaced. The riot was getting closer.

 

This was definitely one of the riskier stunts she'd ever pulled. Technically, her mission on Charybdis II had already been completed. In fact, in her official logs she would claim to have spent the day resting up in the ONI safe-house located across the city.

 

In reality, Veronica Dare was spending her time hunting the truth.

 

The recording of the Master Chief's supposed embassy attack was fake. Dare had recognized the signs immediately. The darker corners of waypoint were already ripping it to shreds. Strangely, none of the mainstream media outlets were reporting on the blatant fraud. This was worrying. It could suggest a high-ranking conspiracy, maybe even one from within ONI itself.

 

Dare knew better than to bring her concerns to her superiors. She had seen too many of her colleagues be reassigned to posts in the path of the Covenant war machine after asking...inconvenient questions. Open curiosity about other sections of ONI had become a terminal condition over the past half-century. If she wanted the truth, she'd have to find it herself.

 

Thus, she had contacted an outside source. One that she had never quite gotten around to informing her superiors about. She had received a reply from the civilian hacker in a remarkably short amount of time. After she had deciphered the waypoint jargon that seemed unique only to him, Dare realized that he may have information that could blow this thing wide open.

 

Transferring the information digitally was too risky. At least, that's what the contact said. Dare suspected her source was suffering a bout of the paranoia that made him so useful most of the time. He said he would leave a compad containing the intel in a low-income apartment complex for Dare to pick up. It was a risk, but if this panned out she could be well on her way to getting the answers she needed.

 

The architecture of the city got progressively more monochromatic as she went deeper into the low income neighborhoods. Square buildings of bare concrete and brick dominated, broken up only by the near-omnipresent graffiti. Various forms of litter and assorted detritus cluttered the sides of the road. Dare pulled her vehicle into a parking lot. She had deliberately chosen a low quality model with faded paint and dents to ensure it blended in with the other vehicles. There was nothing pristine in the borough she was venturing into.

 

Before exiting the vehicle, Dare took a moment to quadruple-check her appearance in the rear-view mirror. She was wearing plain clothes, carefully worn down to give a weathered look, and her real hair was hidden by a wig. With a headset covering her eyes, it would be difficult for a passive scan to get an ID on her. A more thorough examination would see right through the disguise, but short of reconstructive surgery there wasn't anything she could do about that. She just had to hope that the surveillance satellites were too distracted by the riots to pay any attention to this area.

 

It took several minutes for the intelligence agent to make her way to the target building. She ducked into alleys and scaled fences, keeping an ever-watchful eye out for tails. Eventually she was satisfied that she was alone and made her way to her destination.

 

The apartment complex was run down, as expected. Dare made careful examination of the potential exits in case things went south. It was times like this that part of her regretted urging Buck to accept the offer to join the Spartan corps. His team of ODSTs had been rather useful as a cat's paw for Dare's more risky ops. Still, she knew that Buck could do more good as a Spartan than as an ODST and she wasn't about to stifle his potential. The super-soldier division was where he belonged.

 

Besides, her husband's augmentations did tend to make their reunions more...entertaining.

 

Dare shook her head and refocused on the mission. This was no time to get lost in such thoughts.

 

The headset she was wearing allowed her to access and unlock one of the side doors. It resembled a merge between a bulky pair of sunglasses and a pair of headphones and it was deliberately crafted to resemble civilian headsets. People would wear them in order to access waypoint, watch videos, or even play AR video games. At first, Command had worried that the abnormally large size of the gear would stand out. Fortunately, fashion trends had shifted so that bulky headsets were now in style. Some models even contained bits of weighty metal that served no other purpose than to increase the weight of the device and thus give the appearance of higher quality. Dare's model was fairly standard in appearance.

 

She hacked into the building's security system, taking care to create a back door in case she was locked out. She looked through the video feed of each of the building's security cameras as she ascended the stairs. No one else was walking the halls. The news of the riot had doubtless lead most of the residents to barricade themselves inside and hope to weather the storm. She only saw one individual, a teenager, staring out a window just to the right of the stairwell. Maybe he couldn't get a good enough view from wherever he called home; given the bruises visible on his face, maybe this was just a safer place to be, riot or not. Dare gave him a wide berth. He didn't seem to notice her.

 

At last, she reached her destination. The ONI Agent activated the scanning functions of her headset. She was greeted by a solid wall. The room must be insulated against scanners. This had to be the place.

 

Dare knelt, pretending to tie her shoes, and snaked a fiber-optic probe under the door. She saw an empty single room apartment. No one was home. As expected. She got up and input the door code the hacker had sent her. The lock turned green. She opened the door.

 

Scan-resistant sheets were literally tacked onto every wall, as well as the floor and ceiling. Bare furniture and empty shelves dotted the single room. There were no possessions or signs of habitation. Maybe the hacker had cleared out. Dare looked over the room...

 

_There!_

 

A compad was resting on the floor on the far wall. Dare walked over and activated it. The compad chimed an annoying tune and demanded that she type the password and 'put it in me'. Goddamn civvies...

 

Before she could even access the data, her headset flashed an alert. Someone had cut her off from the security system. A jamming signal was likewise preventing any external calls. A monotone voice came over the building's PA system.

 

“ **Attention residents, this is the Heliopolis Police Department. I repeat, this is the HPD. There is a dangerous fugitive inside your building. Please remain indoors while we conduct a search. We thank you for your cooperation.”**

 

Dare pocketed the compad and drew her suppressed pistol. It only took a moment to push past the jamming and access the backdoor she had installed. This was not her first field op.

 

The first thing she noticed was that all of the apartment doors had been remotely locked. No one could leave their homes if they wanted to. The PA message was probably meant to make her panic.

 

The second thing she noticed was the team of armed soldiers making their way up the stairwell toward her location. They wore black body armor that was devoid of any insignia as well as full wrap-around helmets. The armor was padded, eliminating any chance of identifying the individuals by body type. Their visors were polarized, blocking their faces. They were as anonymous as a human could be. Dare recognized them instantly.

 

Night Watch.

 

Publicly, it was a private military corporation that sold its services to various corporations desiring additional security for colony projects. In reality, it was ONI's private division of wet works operatives. They were the people Command sent on missions that even the most fanatical ODST would consider morally unsound. They were psychotic thugs with government paychecks. People like Dare weren't even supposed to know they existed, but that hadn't stopped her from finding out.

 

It seemed that the question of whether ONI was involved in the conspiracy had just been answered.

 

Dare tied a bandana around her face on the off chance that ONI didn't know she was the one looking into things. The virus she had uploaded earlier should destroy any visual record of her appearance. She drew her combat knife. This was going to get messy. She tracked the hostiles over the building's security system.

 

A team of 3 NW operatives entered the floor Dare was on. The teenager from before barely had time to notice them before he was gunned down by a suppressed submachine gun. No witnesses. Dare fought down a spike of rage.

 

At least she wouldn't have to feel guilty about any of this.

 

The power went out. The lights suddenly turned off without warning. The apartment was covered in pitch darkness, the sunlight blocked by the scan-resistant sheets over the windows. Dare activated the enhanced light mode on her headset.

 

The operatives took position on either side of the door. One slung his assault rifle and prepped both a breaching charge and a flash-bang grenade. Rather professional, all things considered. Dare moved to the side of the door, her pistol in her right hand and her combat knife in her left. She tensed in preparation.

 

The door exploded inward. It was swiftly followed by the flash-bang.

 

A burst of light filled the room along with a deafening noise. Any unprotected human would be momentarily disoriented, their brains thrown off balance by the sudden sensory overload. This would provide a momentary advantage that could prove all the difference in a combat situation.

 

Fortunately for Dare, her headset automatically shielded her from both effects.

 

A NW operative rushed into the room.

 

Dare fired once.

 

The bullet penetrated the thin armor covering the operative's neck. Blood spurted both out of the hole and upward into the man's helmet. He dropped his weapon and clutched at his neck, trying in vain to stem the blood flow.

 

One down.

 

Another operative rushed into the room, right behind the first. Before he could even register the shot, Dare fired again.

 

This bullet punched through a gap in one of the air intakes on the bottom-rear of his helmet. His head jerked as the bullet passed through his skull and ricocheted off the interior of his headgear. He collapsed to the ground.

 

Two down.

 

At this point, operative number 3 had become aware of Dare's presence. He lunged into a roll, narrowly avoiding her shot. The operative rolled to a stop, readied his weapon--

 

Dare kicked the man's weapon aside and tackled him to the ground. He struggled for a moment before Dare managed to insert her combat knife into the seam connecting his neck armor to his helmet. A few wrenches back and forth and operative number 3 was down.

 

Silence descended upon the room. Aside from the twitching and gurgling of the dying men, obviously.

 

Dare checked the security feed, now occupying the upper-left corner of her vision. She cycled through the various cameras. It was difficult to make anything out in the emergency lighting, but she eventually located the rest of the enemy combatants. There were 3 NW's in the primary stairwell as well as 2 in both secondary stairwells. A standard 10-man squad. Now that their advance team had failed, they would probably try to ambush her once she tried to leave.

 

One of operatives was looking at a screen built into his wrist. He froze momentarily. His body language showed intense anxiety. Dare smiled. She knew they were viewing the same camera feeds she was.

 

The NWs became even more agitated when she cut them off from the system. These thugs were way out of their league. Dare grabbed a couple flash-bangs from the dead operatives before leaving the room. She moved silently through the hall, keeping an eye on the motion tracker on the bottom-left of her vision.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Twenty minutes later all of the Night Watch operatives were dead and Dare had slipped out of the building. She made her way back to her vehicle, stopping frequently to see if she was being followed. She wasn't. She entered her vehicle and started down the road just before the rioters got there. A few rocks bounced off the rear window and bumper. She wondered what they would make of the dead operatives if they found them.

 

The hacker's compad felt like it was burning a hole in her vest's inner pocket. She would access it as soon as she got somewhere safe. Which would not be the ONI safe-house. She couldn't take the risk that Command was on to her. If they weren't, she would have to come up with some kind of cover to avoid suspicion. For the moment, she was on her own.

 

Whatever data the hacker found had better be worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: In the main game, it's passingly mentioned that the Arbiter is changing the way sangheili society has operated by allowing females into the military. Before the game's launch I took that to mean that the Arbiter was a bit of a social reformist. This would make sense considering how the Prophet's betrayed him and his species. Then the game came out and that one passing mention was literally all we got. Sigh. I'll be expanding on that idea here. 
> 
> Note: I hope I'm not laying it on too thick with the whole 'Blue Team doesn't trust aliens' thing. They're not bigots or anything, but it's important to remember that they spent nearly 30 years fighting the Covenant. Things between them and any sangheili are going to be to be tense.
> 
> Note: Up till now, I have tried to have Kelly be the most emotionally healthy and cognizant member of Blue Team. However, I think that such a person would probably be hit all the harder by the horrors of the Human-Covenant War. She would be the one to harbor the most hard feelings toward the sangheili, imo.
> 
> Note: Some readers have complained that I'm making ONI too cartoonishly evil. I think they probably have a point, hence my decision to expand on Veronica Dare's role. My ONI has been sliding down the slope into evil for decades and has fully embraced Orwellian ideals. I think the idea that ONI Command used the Covenant to get rid of any agents that challenged their insanity is a pretty good explanation for how things could get so bad. Not to mention the fact that they were pretty evil before the Covenant even showed up, as evidenced by the Spartan II project. Also, it's important to remember that ONI's current activities aren't necessarily sustainable. They were probably well on their way to self-destruction before the events of this story even started. The question is whether they'll take all of humanity down with them, or if the heroes will be able to stop them before it's too late. Thoughts?
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	26. Ch 25 New Conversations

Chapter 25: New Conversations

 

“Don't you find any of this the least bit unsettling?” Kelly asked her siblings. They were standing in the interior of the Lich transport, waiting for it to arrive at the first survey location. Specifically, they were examining the spare weapons in the armory. They had been given permission to utilize whatever weaponry they might find useful. They had all trained with them back during the Human-Covenant War, so inexperience wouldn't be a problem. Some of them would even fit their skillsets better than the assault rifles they were currently carrying.

 

Fred frowned. This was the third time Kelly had started this kind of conversation. It wasn't like a Spartan II to repeat themself.

 

“Of course it bothers me,” Linda replied via a series of HUD flashes. None of them were foolish enough to have this kind of conversation openly. They were communicating by making their ID signatures blink in Morse code. If the aliens noticed it at all, which would require them monitoring their secure transmissions, they would most likely think it was simply an equipment malfunction. Linda gestured across the compartment to where the Chief was overseeing the huragok's efforts to incorporate Dr. Halsey's scanning equipment into the Sword recon drones. “That doesn't mean it isn't logical. We need their help. Trying to withhold the tech from them would only increase their distrust and erode cooperation, which is not something we can afford.”

 

Linda reached into the armory and pulled out a Type 27 beam rifle. The 176cm long alien weapon projected a beam of energy in a laser-straight line that remained effective for several kilometers in an atmosphere. The sniper hefted it experimentally. It wasn't Nornfang, but it would have to do.

 

Now it was Fred's turn. He took a minute to think it over. “I'll admit, it does bug me a bit, too. I'd really prefer not to work with sangheili at all. Linda's right, though. We need their help. We'll just have to adapt to the situation. It's what Spartans are the best at, right?” he said jokingly, reaching for his own new weapon. Designated the Type-51 Carbine, it was the sangheili weapon that most resembled a human rifle, albeit with organic curves in place of the hard angles that human weapons tended to possess. It had been dubbed the 'Covenant Carbine' during the War. This was a rather offensive misnomer to Fred as it was a precision marksman's weapon.

 

Next up was Kelly.

 

“I'll stick with my current gear,” Kelly said. Fred was surprised. Kelly was currently carrying an assault rifle, which was not the best fit for her skillset. This was on top of their dwindling ammunition supplies.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly. “There's not really a sangheili equivalent to your shotgun, but--”

 

“I said I'm fine!”

 

The statement was still said via Morse code, but Kelly's posture had gone rigid. Her fists were clenched and her visor had snapped to look directly at Fred's. Someone who didn't spend a lot of time around people in face-concealing armor might have no idea what was going on. To the Spartan IIs, it was about as close to an emotional outburst they could have while armored up.

 

Neither of her siblings had any idea how to react to this. Fred glanced at Linda, taking care not to move his head and give away the action. Kelly seemed to pick up on it anyway as she glanced from one of them to the other and back.

 

“...I'm going to go catch some z's. Wake me if you need me,” she commed out loud. Her voice was utterly devoid of emotion. She walked away and sat upright against a wall. Her breathing indicated she had fallen asleep almost immediately, a trick common amongst professional soldiers.

 

Fred and Linda glanced at each other again. The Master Chief joined them at that moment. He picked up that something was wrong right away.

 

“There a problem?” he asked via Morse code. Linda responded first.

 

“We're green, sir,” she said. Fred backed her up. Whatever Kelly was going through, she would be able to keep it professional. She was Blue Team, after all.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

John stared at the crack in his visor. The Lich had almost arrived at its first destination. He was waiting with the rest of Blue Team.

 

Waiting, and thinking.

 

Thinking about the crack he could always see in the corner of his eye. Would always see from now on. Thinking about how he had gotten it. The man who had given it to him. It was a subject that was beginning to dominate his idle moments, even more than memories of Cortana.

 

The transport slowed to a stop and hovered in mid-air. Various members of the academic team started getting ready to exit the ship. They had finally arrived at their destination. Blue Team readied themselves as well. The Chief drew his assault rifle. Fred shook Kelly awake.

 

The hatch in the ventral side of the Lich cycled open. One of 'Khebrem's students dropped several survey drones out. The meter-wide machines came to life and spread out in every direction, rushing off to gather the precious data that would allow Blue Team to complete their mission.

 

The gravity lift over the ventral hatch activated. Several sangheili warriors stepped into it, the device lowering them to the ground as swiftly as it could without injuring them. Blue Team followed suit.

 

They found themselves in an arid region, likely some kind of desert. Sands and rock formations stretched out in every direction, broken up only by a river that flowed to the east. There was an extensive system of ruins spread around them. It wasn't large enough to be a city. Given the design of the remaining stone buildings the Chief surmised it was some kind of temple or tomb.

 

“Secure the area,” the Master Chief ordered. The sangheili warriors were under his command for the duration of the mission. He was sure there would have been a mutiny over that had the order not been delivered by the Arbiter himself. He would swear he could _feel_ them chafe at having to take orders from a 'vermin' like him.

 

The Chief smiled behind his polarized visor.

 

After a few minutes, he declared the area clear. The Lich landed and opened its starboard hatch. 'Khebrem and the rest of his team walked down the extended ramp.

 

“We will enter the main tomb and begin our investigation there,” the academic leader informed them. “I assume you will remain on the surface to ensure security?”

 

The Master Chief shook his head. “Actually, I would like to accompany you inside, along with Blue Three. We have the most direct experience with the objectives of our search. We may notice something you could miss.” The Chief would not admit, even to himself, the real reason he wanted to accompany them into the tomb. Remaining on guard would be too close to inactivity. His mind might start drifting to...unproductive subjects once again.

 

All of the sangheili present seemed to dislike his decision. Fortunately, even the academics were too well disciplined to openly object to his orders. The benefits of a warrior society.

 

“Very well,” 'Khebrem said, his mandibles clutched tightly to his face. “Perhaps this will enlighten you on the sangheili people. Please do be careful, though. Even the floors may house information that could be invaluable to our work.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The party made its way downward into the tomb, the Spartans taking the lead. The academics were carrying some kind of flashlights and torches. The bright white light illuminated the halls for tens of meters. The Spartans were uneasy. Any potential foe would be able to see them coming from a long way away. The Chief supposed it made sense from the academic's point of view. Enhanced light modes, while useful, tended to wash out colors. Given the paintings and writings that they began to find on the walls, he could understand their desire to see all of the details in the light of day, so to speak.

 

He still felt on edge about it.

 

'Khebrem and his students practically fawned over what they found. They recorded every detail of every square centimeter, both in video and via note taking. Apparently this was a bigger deal than he had realized.

 

“I hope you realize what an extraordinary honor has been bestowed upon you,” 'Khebrem said, confirming the Chief's suspicion. The sangheili scribbled away on the compad attached to his left wrist as he spoke. “These tombs were declared off-limits to all centuries ago. Only after the Great Schism and the demise of the Covenant did the Arbiter declare them open to select parties. We are the first to see these halls for generations.”

 

The academic continued his examination of the walls. He became particularly engrossed in a deptiction of what appeared to be sangheili farmers. 'Khebrem began talking in a fast-paced, quiet voice once again.

 

“Seeds were sown into a nursery by males and transported later into primary fields by females. Fields were surrounded by artificial embankments and were flooded at select times. Fascinating. Coordinator Ya-yap should be most interested in this...”

 

The Master Chief was perplexed. “Did you say 'Ya-yap'?” he asked. That sounded more like an unggoy name than a sangheili one.

 

'Khebrem paused. He then chuckled, seeming to know something that the Spartan didn't. The Chief grew rather annoyed.

 

“Yes, he is the unggoy in command of many of the agricultural efforts upon Sanghelios,” the sangheili said. He turned to the Chief before continuing. “Tell me, Spartan, what do you know of sangheili culture in the time of the Covenant? Particularly its view of a sangheili pursuing non-warrior professions?”

 

_That_ was a line of thinking that the Spartan had never considered. The sangheili were an overwhelmingly martial society. Everything about their culture seemed to relate back to combat and the glorification of warfare. The idea of a sangheili even being something other than a soldier seemed almost a contradiction in terms. The Chief wracked his brain trying to remember even a passing reference to a non-warrior sangheili in all his decades of fighting them.

 

Eventually, the Chief had to concede defeat. “I'm afraid I don't know much of anything,” he confessed. “I imagine they weren't held in high regard.”

 

“Hah!” 'Khebrem exclaimed. “An understatement, if ever there was one! Being anything other than a soldier was _reviled_ amongst my people during the time of the Covenant. A sangheili who tried would be viewed as bringing shame to his entire clan. In the beginning it was likely quite different,” he said, gesturing to the paintings of sangheili farmers, “but by the time of the Covenant's end we had become firmly entrenched in our place as the head of the warrior caste. We were reliant upon the other races for everything, from food to industry. This is why unggoy like Ya-yap were the natural choice to lead us in rediscovering certain lost arts—they are the only ones we can rely on who have the necessary experience. The huragok may have the expertise, but they lack any of the creativity or imagination necessary for this task; they only craft what you tell them to.” 

 

The academic shook his head and sighed, likely thinking of his own engineer. He returned to his history lesson. “Eventually all agriculture was banned from the surface of Sanghelios. This was a world only for warriors. Now that the Covenant is no more, my people must find a way to survive without its support systems. Unfortunately, knowledge of how we lived before the Covenant has proven difficult to find. I suspect there were many purges of...unseemly knowledge from the keeps over the past 2 millenia. Even basic depictions such as these could prove invaluable to Ya-yap's endeavors.”

 

The Master Chief was confused. “I'm surprised your people would be willing to become reliant upon any other race.”

 

“I fear you do not understand what it was like,” 'Khebrem replied, sighing once again. “In the records I have found I discovered that the Kaidons, our version of your 'lords', would take as much as 60% of the annual yields of the peasant farmers' labors. 60%! With little to no services provided in return. The craftsmen and merchants were not treated much better. Nearly all who were not warriors lived in abject poverty for their entire lives. Can you truly blame them for jumping at the chance to become warriors themselves? To advance up the ranks of society now that their services were not strictly needed? To look with disdain upon those who did not share their ambitions?” The academic looked at the paintings once again. He emitted what sounded like a low growl and muttered something about 'sightless fools' under his breath. The Chief thought he detected significant bitterness lingering just beneath the surface. 'Khebrem shook himself and finished his speech. “No, the Covenant did not have much difficulty manipulating my people into becoming wholly dependent upon its infrastructure.”

 

“And now? Aren't you still dependent upon other races, like the unggoy?” the Chief pressed, inexplicably fascinated. Was his curiosity born of a desire to know one's enemy?

 

“Take care, Spartan,” 'Khebrem nearly growled. His posture became more aggressive. He noticed Blue Three tense just out of sight. The sangheili continued, “the Arbiter has granted you passage, but even I do not take well to insults to my people.” The Chief paused, then nodded in acceptance. The sangheili was a civilian and the Spartan recognized the necessity of treating him differently than he would a regular subordinate.

 

“In answer to your question,” the academic said, “we are merely utilizing the unggoy's expertise for the time being. Once we have come to a sufficient mastery of our world, we will bid the unggoy farewell. Some will be welcome to stay in recognition of their service but the fate of the sangheili will once again be in the hands of the sangheili.” The Master Chief nodded once more. 'Khebrem went back to his work.

 

John was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. He still wasn't quite sure why...

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The office chair groaned as Captain Lasky leaned back. He glanced over his disciplinary orders one last time before sending them to the relevant officers. This had always been one of the least favorite parts of his job.

 

The video of the Master Chief supposedly attacking an embassy had led to a number of infractions on the part of his crew, in addition to the initial brawl a few days prior. Lasky could sympathize with them to a degree. Many of them had families who were in danger because of the widespread unrest sparked by the controversy. It was hard for anyone to keep their cool with that lingering in the back of their head. Lasky had taken measures to keep his soldiers distracted, even requisitioning the download of several new sim games for them to play in their down time. It was enormously expensive to do so this far out but he believed they had helped keep the peace.

 

Empathy aside, discipline had to be maintained and those who had caused trouble needed to be punished. Lasky had to be the Captain.

 

_Thank God for latrine duty,_ Lasky thought with a grin. That was one function that the UNSC Navy had never bothered to automate. Scrubbing toilets was simply too useful a punishment to abandon, regardless of any short term increases in efficiency. 

 

The compad on his desk chirped. The Marine guarding the door to his office notified him of a visitor. Ah. His appointment had arrived. On time, too, which was a pleasant surprise given the man's history. Lasky told the Marine to let his guest in.

 

Captain Lasky stood as the door opened. Sergeant Kojo 'Romeo' Agu, leader of ODST squad Alpha Nine, stepped into the room, approached the desk, and traded salutes with his superior. “Sgt. Agu, reporting as ordered, sir,” he said, crisply.

 

“Thank you, sergeant. Please, have a seat,” Lasky replied, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. The two soldiers sat down on their respective sides. “It's my understanding that you and your squad were involved in one of the earlier disturbances aboard my ship,” the Captain said, deciding to cut straight to the chase.

 

The non-com managed to keep his cool. He sat a bit straighter and looked directly over Lasky's shoulder, perfectly in regulation, and answered, “Sir, I take full responsibility. I should have known better and reigned myself and my squadmates in. I will accept whatever disciplinary measures you deem appropriate.”

 

Lasky was impressed. From what Spartan Buck had told him, 'Romeo' had a history of difficulty with authority figures. Taking the responsible, logical approach spoke well of how he had adapted to command. Now to test that adaptability...

 

“I appreciate the sentiment, sergeant,” the Captain said, “but I'm afraid my hands are tied. You and your men will be taken off the _Infinity_ Task Group's duty roster. Here's your new assignment,” he said, placing a data cube on the desk.

 

Sgt. Agu just sat there in shock, his mouth hanging open. He and his team had worked hard to earn their posting in the flagship fleet of the UNSC. To be summarily removed over an infraction that a large percentage of the crew were also guilty of must have been unbearable. To Lasky's relief, the sergeant continued to maintain his composure. He nodded curtly and slotted the data cube into his own compad.

 

There was no 'yes sir' or other verbal acknowledgment. Given his eye movements, Agu was simply skimming the document. So maybe he wasn't quite as composed as he liked to believe. Lasky suppressed a smile.

 

Within moments, Sgt. Agu's eyes widened and he paused mid-text. Lasky could tell he was scrolling back to the top of the document and reading it more thoroughly.

 

_Come on, sergeant, don't let me down,_ the Captain thought. 

 

Once he was finished reading, Sgt. Agu looked Lasky dead in the eyes. He seemed to regard the superior officer carefully for several seconds before speaking again. “We're to ship out for this assignment immediately, sir?”

 

“That is correct, sergeant,” Lasky replied with a relieved smile. He wiped his face clean of emotion before continuing. “You and your men will need to depart by the end of the day.”

 

Sgt. Agu nodded, flashing his own smile for only a second before replacing it with a false scowl. The man stood and saluted Lasky before leaving the room. He hadn't used any specific terms, hadn't questioned what the hell was going on, hadn't given any indication that the orders he had just received were in any way unusual. He had kept his cool and played the game well.

 

Lasky breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to know that Agu would be able to work covertly. He would need to if things got as bad as Lasky was beginning to fear they would get.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The few hours after Lasky's meeting with Sgt. Agu were spent fulfilling the general duties required of a ship captain. As usual, the grind nearly pushed him into the floor. His compad chirped another alert. This time it was a very different man at his door. 

 

Dr. Alexander Hamilton entered and shook Lasky's hand respectfully. The man was what one would expect a scientist to look like: short brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a headset that resembled an old pair of tortoise shell glasses. He had been transferred to Lasky's oversight after the...disaster over Meridian. Another group of assets that ONI would no longer be able to exploit.

 

Lasky banished any such thoughts from his head. Any speculation about whatever game Admiral Hood was playing would only distract him from his current assignment. Hood's orders for Sgt. Agu and the rest of Alpha Nine already constituted more involvement than he would prefer.

 

The Fleet Admiral himself promptly arrived via a hologram projected over Lasky's desk. The Captain was rather pleased to report that things were progressing nicely since their last meeting. The Cradle had nearly completed the scheduled repairs, the lost servicemen had been replaced, and the  _Infinity_ should be ready to move out within a few days. Things were finally looking up.

 

It took only a few minutes for Lasky's entire world to be upended again.

 

“The next Guardian is _where_?!” 

 

 

 


	27. Ch 26 Osiris and the Sangheili

Chapter 26 Osiris and the Sangheili

 

The smear campaign against the Master Chief was abandoned within a few weeks.

 

The viewscreen in one of the _Infinity's_ recreation wings displayed a news anchor making the big announcement. Locke kept an eye on his fellow crew members as they watched.

 

“...the evidence shows that former journalist 'Benjamin Giraud', now revealed to be a ranking member of the Insurrection, was responsible for editing the footage of the embassy attack on Biko,” the anchor exposited. “This revelation follows nearly a month's controversy surrounding the legendary Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117, controversy that escalated into mass violence on several colonies. The genuine footage of the attack has been released by the Office of Naval Intelligence. As shown earlier tonight, it reveals the Master Chief rescuing the diplomatic delegation from a group of militant Insurrectionists. I'm sure that all of humanity is relieved to see its greatest hero vindicated once again.”

 

The reaction of the crew was mixed. Those who blamed the Chief slink off, mumbling about 'mutants' and 'proves nothing'. Those who supported him beamed with vindication...mixed with bitterness and blame for those who had turned on their hero in his moment of need. The divisions caused by the aborted smear campaign would not be simple to erase.

 

The truth was undeniable: the smear job on the Master Chief had been an absolute disaster. It had caused significant unrest and violence across UEG space and within the military itself. It hadn't even accomplished what it had been meant to do, namely discredit the Chief in case he tried to lead some sort of rebellion. Anyone who would follow him was the sort that would never believe the smear in the first place. Anyone who wouldn't did not require the smear to convince them. It had simply solidified the divisions and forced those on the fence to pick a side. On top of that, it reminded the Outer Colonists of the sharp divide between them and their Inner Colony relatives. It had all been a colossal waste of time and resources.

 

Enter Benjamin Giraud. Locke tried to remember what he knew of Giraud, the fall guy for ONI's botched operation. He seemed to remember that Giraud was one of the supposedly independent journalists that covered the Human-Covenant War back when it was still going on. He had provided pictures and articles which were then edited, or outright doctored, to present a more positive picture of the war effort for the general public. Thanks to the hard work of men like him, most humans were unaware of just how dire the situation was until the Covenant captured Earth in the last days of the War.

 

Recently, Giraud apparently had a crisis of conscience. He had been hired to write a fluff piece on the Master Chief's origins. He was provided a number of sources who had been carefully coached to present a fictional account of the legendary Spartan's origins, rather than the true story of child abduction and forced indoctrination. Somewhere along the way Giraud had discovered the truth, leaked everything he had onto waypoint, and made himself ONI enemy number one.

 

Framing the renegade journalist for the smear campaign was a brilliant move. It discredited Giraud's story, destroyed his credibility, and allowed ONI to end the smear without ever having to admit fault. With Giraud arrested, no doubt rotting in a Midnight Facility without trial, ONI would be able to put this whole mess behind it. It wasn't perfect, as Locke had observed the effects lingering even past the 'story' breaking, but it would go a long way toward mitigating the damage. Had this occurred a month prior, Locke would feel a swell of pride at the skill with which his organization had handled things.

 

Meridian had changed that.

 

Locke had seen things that he wasn't supposed to see. He had seen glimpses of the Spartan IIs in civilian garb, living as human beings, in Governor Sloan's memories. The memories that ONI didn't want him to see. The resolution of the smear job showed just how skilled ONI was at lying and manipulating the facts.

 

He had to wonder what they had lied to  _him_ about. 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_The briefing room feels different when you're not the one in the spotlight,_ Locke reflected. 

 

Fireteam Osiris was once again sitting in a briefing room, waiting to be told about their current assignment. Unlike the past times, Locke was not the one giving the briefing. It was a bit strange to be sitting alongside his subordinates rather than standing in front of them. He felt almost out of place. At least Tanaka was sitting on the far side of the aisle; without Buck and Vale to separate them, she might have tried to strangle him by now.

 

“Officer on the deck!” one of the Marines guarding the door shouted. Everyone immediately stood at attention and saluted as Captain Lasky entered the room. He was followed by the—former—ONI scientist, Dr. Hamilton. Locke noticed Hamilton give him a dirty look as their eyes met. It seemed the good doctor wasn't exactly broken up over his recent transfer, after all.

 

“At ease,” Captain Lasky said, returning the salute. Osiris returned to their seats. “I'm sure you're wondering about the status of your current assignment. Well, Dr. Hamilton here has some information for you. Doctor?”

 

Hamilton stepped up, touching his glasses to bring an image up on the wall. The image showed several pieces or Forerunner tech, some of which looked familiar. It took Locke a moment to recognize some of the relics that he had recovered from Conrad's Point at the beginning of this whole thing. The rest of the image showed equations and readouts that Locke had no possible way to interpret.

 

“We analyzed the Forerunner equipment relating to the Guardians and have discovered the location of the next one to be activated,” he explained. Ah, finally. Locke had been wondering when he'd be able to get back to the hunt. Hamilton touched his glasses again, bringing up an image of the last planet Locke expected to see. “Sanghelios.”

 

Locke would have laughed if he wasn't so stunned. This...this had to be some kind of joke. He thought back to the events on Meridian. If the same events played out on the sangheili homeworld, he may have to reconsider his opinion on whoever was responsible for activating them. Scorching those split-lipped bastards where they lived would elevate anyone several notches in Locke's book.

 

Captain Lasky stepped forward once again. “We have contacted the Swords of Sanghelios and have arranged passage for Fireteam Osiris. You will go to Sanghelios, alone, and cooperate with the Arbiter's forces to accomplish your objectives.”

 

If Locke was shocked before, he was completely dumbfounded now.

 

“Sir...are you serious?” Locke asked.

 

The Captain looked Locke dead in the eye. “Completely, Spartan Locke. You're all going to Sanghelios.”

 

This couldn't be happening.

 

“Sir, with all due respect, you can't be serious,” Locke objected. The lunacy of this was throwing him completely off-balance. “You want us to go to the _sangheili homeworld_ and cooperate with the bastards that tried to exterminate the entire human race? How can we trust them?”

 

“You'll trust them because I'm ordering you to trust them,” Captain Lasky said with an uncompromising expression. “The Swords of Sanghelios is not the Covenant. They are our allies, and you _will_ cooperate with them.” If Locke was thinking straight, he would have noticed that Lasky was putting him in his place. Unfortunately, this was just too much to take in.

 

“Sir, I still don't get it,” Locke continued. “Even if we can trust them, why would we _want_ to work with them on this? I say we skip this one, go after the next Guardian to wake up, and let the one on Sanghelios burn their murderous assess--”

 

“THAT'S ENOUGH!” Lasky shouted. All of Osiris sat up straighter. The Captain continued, “I don't care about your personal opinions, Spartan Locke. The Arbiter and his nation are our allies now. The Treaty of 2552 was approved and ratified by the UEG Senate. It is the will of the people that this peace happen, it is the will of the UNSC leadership that we cooperate, and it is _my_ will that you shut up and follow my orders. Is that understood, Spartan Locke?” The Captain's tone and expression left no room for disagreement. 

 

“Sir, yes sir. Understood, sir,” Locke replied through clenched teeth. He knew that he would be facing significant disciplinary actions following this outburst. He didn't care. What he said needed to be said.

 

Captain Lasky resumed him stoic demeanor before continuing. “Besides, that isn't really an option. Doctor?” He motioned Hamilton forward again.

 

“Yes, well,” he began, shooting a smug look at Locke. The Spartan and covert ONI Agent felt an intense impulse to rip the man's throat out. He suppressed it with what felt like a Herculean effort. The former ONI asset continued, “Unfortunately, the Forerunner equipment we have is beginning to degrade at an alarming rate. We cannot account for this, other than attributing it to age. 100,000 years is a long time even for Forerunner technology. It is a high probability that we will be unable to determine where, precisely, a Guardian will appear after Sanghelios.”

 

“You heard the man,” Lasky said, motioning the doctor back. “This is our last option. Understood?” All the members of Osiris responded in the affirmative. The briefing continued. Locke, however, was left wondering just how true Dr. Hamilton's statement was.

 

Everyone knew that Hood was far more chummy with the sangheili than any human should be. Was this just a scheme to get humanity on even better terms with their former butchers? He supposed that other departments of ONI would have to figure that out. He cursed the fact that he had to be the one handling this. A thought occurred to the ONI Agent.

 

Why  _was_ he the one handling this? 

 

Fleet Admiral Hood should have wanted anyone  _other_ than Jameson Locke on this assignment. Even if the all-too-clever Admiral didn't know where Locke's true loyalties lay, he had to be suspicious. Why wasn't someone else being assigned to this? ONI had pulled out all the stops to keep Locke where he was but with the addition of continued relations with the sangheili to the equation, no amount of political wrangling should have been enough. 

 

A chill went down Locke's spine as he wondered just what ONI had done to achieve this. It couldn't have been a threat. Hood and Lasky were both fearless. It couldn't have been political pressure. Even the senators that ONI controlled directly couldn't risk sticking their necks out over this. Could it have been a deal? What could have been offered that would be worth this? Anything that would convince Hood to go along with this would be capable of fundamentally changing the balance of power within the UEG. Why would ONI Command be willing to sacrifice so much?

 

Locke thought back to his latest meeting with the Disembodied Voice. He had been given a new set of primary orders: investigate any leads on who or what was in control of the Guardians. It didn't take a genius to know what they had in mind.

 

What was ONI planning to do if Locke succeeded and it gained control of the Guardians?

 

The world seemed to be getting foggy and out of focus. Locke started to wonder just what the hell was going on...and what the hell he was even doing.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The elevator hummed as it ferried Fireteam Osiris toward on of the _Infinity's_ cavernous hangar bays. The flagship was so immense that the journey would take several minutes, leaving the members of Osiris plenty of time to discuss things.

 

Locke glanced down at the ONI symbol on his chest. It had been restored when his armor was repaired following the Battle of Meridian. He wondered if he should have bothered. It had caused him trouble before. He banished the thought and refocused on the present. On the mission to aid, of all people, the sangheili.

 

To his horror, the rest of Fireteam Osiris did not seem to share his hesitance. Spartan Vale was practically jumping up and down with excitement. Locke hadn't seen her stop smiling since the briefing.

 

“Settle down, Vale,” Buck said, chuckling. “Ya take some stims before joinin' us, or what?”

 

Vale turned to Buck, smiling brightly behind her visor. “Can you blame me?” she asked. “I've been preparing for this for years! Look, I've even downloaded the latest dialect translation,” she said, pulling out her compad. A series of guttural barks and warbles played in the enclosed space; this particular bit of translation software hadn't been widely distributed yet. Locke scowled behind his polarized visor. Vale sighed, saying, “I just wish I could pronounce it myself. Being able to personally speak a language always adds an extra layer of understanding and empathy to a person's perspective. Damn biology...”

 

Locke snorted at the word 'empathy'. Everyone turned to look at him. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to mute his helmet. He debated whether to say anything.

 

“You honestly think there's anything 'empathetic' about these aliens?” Locke asked after a moment. He really should avoid any conversation that could diminish unit cohesion, but this was just too much. “Did you forget that whole '30-year war of racial cleansing' thing?”

 

The elevator was silent for a moment. Vale blinked behind her visor. “...Sir, that was the Covenant. The San 'Shyuum lied to the the other races, told them that humanity was an affront to the gods that needed to be exterminated. They were afraid of humanity supplanting their position, and they wanted to weaken the sangheili by starting a war that would drastically reduce their numbers and resources. The Arbiter and his forces recognize that they were tricked. They want peace now.”

 

Locke just shook his head. He could tell that there wouldn't be any way to talk sense into Vale. She was blinded by her enthusiasm and her upbringing. He turned to Buck, the only member of Osiris who had even more experience fighting the sangheili than Locke himself. Buck recognized the question immediately.

 

“I fought the Covenant my entire career. I saw a lot my brothers die at the hands of the sangheili. Way too many...” Buck paused for a moment, giving Locke a bit of hope. Then he kept talking. “But I also fought _with_ the sangheili at the end of the War. After the San 'Shyuum pulled their coup and tried to kill off all of the sangheili the way they'd been trying to kill off all the humans. The sangheili lost a lot of people thanks to their prophets' lies. It doesn't let 'em off the hook, but I'm willing to give 'em a chance.”

 

Locke turned to Tanaka, hoping to have at least one ally in sanity. Tanaka snorted and shook her head. “The Covies are responsible for a lot of shit in my life, I'll give you that,” she said. “But I've suffered at least as much thanks to my own kind as I have thanks to theirs. If Captain Lasky and Admiral Hood both say to work with them, I'll work with them.”

 

That ended the conversation, at least as far as Locke was concerned. How could these three be so blind? The sangheili could not be trusted. Ever. Eventually, either they would dominate humanity, or humanity would dominate them. There could be no other way. Sometimes it seemed like his comrades at ONI were the only ones to understand this. He hoped the rest of humanity would realize the truth before it was too late.

 

The elevator doors opened. Fireteam Osiris stepped out and through the gate into one of the smaller hangars. Apparently, the brass wanted to keep this as quiet as possible.

 

_Maybe the only smart thing they'd done so far_ , Locke thought.

 

There was a burgundy Phantom dropship resting on one of the landing pads. Captain Lasky and a small security team of Spartan IVs were standing next to it, waiting for them. A single sangheili was standing there as well.

 

“Fireteam Osiris, this is is Sword of Sanghelios pilot Mahkee 'Chava,” the Captain introduced. “She'll be your pilot for the trip to Sanghelios. The _Infinity_ won't be entering the Sanghelios system at this time, so you will complete the journey through slipspace within her phantom.”

 

The pilot, Mahkee, stepped forward and put her right fist to her chest. Locke returned the salute. He almost threw up in his helmet.

 

Mahkee 'Chava was different from any sangheili Locke had ever seen for one primary reason: she was female. For millenia sangheili females had been forbidden from occupying any kind of combat role. The Arbiter had decided that this tradition was one of many that were holding the sangheili people back and had done away with it. This decision had proved rather controversial, to say the least. Locke figured the Arbiter was just desperate for troops, considering how many of his kind had died in the past few decades.

 

_Boo-hoo, join the fucking club,_ Locke thought with a scowl.

 

The differences between a male and a female sangheili were similar to those between the human genders. Mahkee was slightly shorter than other sangheili Locke had seen. Her build was generally slimmer, her hips were wider, and she had a more narrow face. He hadn't noticed at first that she was female because she lacked any mammary glands. Sangheili were oviparous, so they had no breasts. The only obvious sign was the fact that she had 1 pair of mandibles rather than the 2 pairs males possessed. They clung to both sides of her face, which was covered in what appeared to be warpaint, as she regarded the Spartans.

 

“I am...honored to ferry you to the sacred world of Sanghelios,” Mahkee said. Locke detected her hesitance. It seemed she was no happier about this than he was.

 

The mission was off to a good start already.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The journey to Sanghelios was fairly uneventful. Mahkee even allowed them to access the Phantom's external cameras so they could see the planet itself as they approached.

 

It looked surprisingly normal. There were temperate regions, arid landscapes, plains, tundras, etc. It was a fairly standard garden world.

 

_Would have expected the homeworld of a race of murderous animals to be more intimidating,_ Locke reflected.  _There should be a lot more desolate landscapes and jet black spires of jagged rock. Maybe constant cloud cover, lightning storms, giant bats flying around. Real Mordor stuff._

 

Mahkee's voice came over the comms. Locke detected anxiety underlying her words.

 

“Spartans. I have received news of an incursion of Storm Covenant into Swords of Sanghelios territory. They are attempting to eliminate a valued individual. We are the only ship within range to lend assistance.” She paused for a moment. “I am loathe to ask, but can you aid us?”

 

On any other day, Locke would have told her to piss off. Humanity didn't owe the sangheili a thing after all the aliens had done to them. However, Osiris needed to get on their good side if they were going to have any success at all in their mission. Much as he might hate it, lending assistance here could be invaluable.

 

“We would be proud to aid your warriors,” Locke lied. “Simply point us to your enemies.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Phantom's gravity lift deposited Fireteam Osiris into a narrow canyon. Locke's feet splashed into the creek at its center. He and the rest of Osiris kept their weapons up, scanning the the perimeter. No contacts. Mahkee took her dropship up and moved out of sight. Locke motioned his subordinates forward.

 

The canyon was made of red sandstone, as was a significant amount of the terrain where they exited the crevasse. There were some expanses of tan earth, the occasional creek of clear water, and some green grasses and the occasional tree.

 

The Spartans kept to what cover and concealment they could as they made their way toward the coordinates Mahkee had provided them. The area was full of hills and rock formations, so it proved rather easy. It must have been a nightmare to get any kind of ground vehicles through here. It only took them about 10 minutes to reach their destination: a sangheili ruin.

 

The structure was built into a cliff. The high walls, and presumably the interior itself, were carved out of the stone. Numerous statues of sangheili carrying their bizarre, triangular swords surrounded the open entrance. If there had been doors they had decayed ages ago.

 

“These are pre-Covenant sangheili ruins,” Vale commed in an awe filled tone. “They were already ancient history before humanity built the pyramids!”

 

“Lock it down,” Locke commed. Vale, thankfully, shut up about the aliens' history. He was more concerned about the Storm Covenant forces just outside the entrance.

 

There were a number of vehicles. They consisted mostly of Specter light recon vehicles, clearly reconfigured to serve as rapid deployment troop transports, and some Ghost scout vehicles. They rested on the ground, their anti-gravity functions deactivated while not in use. Their speed made them the obvious choice to strike deep into enemy territory and fall back swiftly. The Specters had had their mounted plasma guns removed, so they weren't much of a threat. The Ghosts, however, still had their dual plasma cannons. They would have to be eliminated quickly.

 

There was only a token rear guard around the entrance. Given the weapons fire they could hear coming from the inside, Locke presumed that was where the majority of the strike force was located. There were a couple kig-yar sharpshooters perched atop some of the stonework and a small team of sangheili, clad in the traditional blues and purples of their nation, gathered around the entrance itself.

 

Locke quickly formulated a battle plan. His subordinates obediently moved to execute it. It gave him some satisfaction that they were at least still following his orders. Locke climbed onto a rock formation and went prone. He drew his new battle rifle and centered his sights on one of the kig-yar. They were at the limit of the weapon's effective range, but given his augmentations that should be little trouble.

 

“Execute,” he commed.

 

Locke fired.

 

The battle rifle shot out a 3-round burst that went directly into the kig-yar's skull. In under 1 second Locke adjusted his aim to center his scope on the second one. The avian sapient had raised his beam rifle and was scanning the horizon. It seemed to aim directly at him.

 

Locke fired again.

 

The burst hit the kig-yar directly on its targeting visor. The glowing red optic shattered as the creature's head snapped backward from the blow. The kig-yar lost its balance and fell to the ground; even if the burst hadn't killed it, the fall certainly had. Locke couldn't hear its dying screech, but he could imagine it. He smiled behind his visor.

 

Several of the sangheili rushed toward the Ghosts, intent on using the mounted weaponry to eradicate the humans. The vehicles rose off of the ground. They seemed to be held aloft by glow of blue light. Arcs of electricity connected its 'wings' to the ground as they oriented toward the Spartans' positions.

 

The Ghosts exploded.

 

Blue-white flames burst out of the destroyed scout vehicles. They overwhelmed the red-orange blast of Buck's demolition charges. The stealth specialist had engaged his cloak and carefully concealed Tanaka's explosives on the vehicles themselves. The enemy infantry was now without mounted support.

 

Tanaka and Vale had risen out of the cover they had crawled towards. They fired on the Sangheili, keeping them suppressed.

 

A pair of fragmentation grenades arced into the sangheili's cover from an unexpected direction. The explosions combined with Buck's silenced submachinegun fire to force the sangheili out of cover. Locke, Tanaka, and Vale cut them down within seconds.

 

Fireteam Osiris regrouped outside the entrance. Tanaka took the forward position, as her armor was the strongest. Locke covered the right, Vale covered the left, and Buck covered the rear. They moved into the ancient structure.

 

There were no hostiles as they made their way through the barren halls. There were plenty of bodies, though, Storm and Swords alike. Although there were far more Storm dead than Swords. This probably had something to do with the clearly superior arms and armor of the Arbiter's soldiers. Whatever VIP had come to this place must rank highly indeed given the clear quality of the gear.

 

Osiris finally spotted the enemy as they approached what appeared to be some sort of main chamber. They stopped before entering, hugging the wall, and Locke snaked a fiberoptic probe around the door frame.

 

The room was large and circular. It appeared to be some sort of amphitheater, with a raised central platform surrounded by by rows of stone seats, each on a higher level the further from the center. There was a door on the far side that the Storm forces were assaulting. The VIP had to be in there. A few of the hostile sangheili finally succeeded in overwhelming the defenders and pushing into the room. The rest of them, about 7 in total, lined up and prepared to follow. They were running out of time.

 

“Engage! Engage!” Locke commed. None of the aliens were examining the entry to the room. Apparently, they were too eager to complete their mission. Thus, Osiris was free to rush into the room and begin firing on the few sangheili who hadn't continued pursuit.

 

Locke took cover behind a stone support pillar. He fired on a sangheili holding a Carbine, wanting to eliminate the sharpshooter as quickly as possible. Enemy fire splashed across Locke's shields.

 

The fire stopped as Tanaka laid down suppressing fire with her SAW. The sangheili sharpshooter ducked behind cover...but there was about a centimeter of skull still exposed. Locke grinned as he fired, landing a trio of bursts on the alien's head. His foe's brains were swiftly splattered against the wall.

 

Vale had used her thrusters to sprint halfway around the room, forcing the Storm forces to divide their focus. She fired away with her assault rifle, downing a couple targets before they could scramble to better cover.

 

Buck had engaged his cloak. The only sign of his presence was the occasional sangheili having its throat cut by an invisible combat knife.

 

The alien forces were caught off guard and, for once, without overwhelming numbers. The Spartans had little trouble finishing them off. Unfortunately, killing them wasn't the goal here, and the VIP could well have come to harm in the time it had taken to eliminate them.

 

“Move up,” Locke ordered. Tanaka led the charge, pushing through the empty doorway to find what appeared to be a small conference room.

 

The room was littered with sangheili dead. The Swords warriors had acquitted themselves well but there had simply been too many. There were only 3 survivors. 2 were Storm, and the 3rd was--

 

“For Sanghelios!” The VIP shouted as he stabbed his energy sword through the midsection of his opponent. The sangheili's energy shield was depleted instantly by the blade of superheated plasma. The smell of scorched armor and burning hide filled the room.

 

The VIP then grabbed his dying foe and positioned his body to block the shots from the other Storm warrior. The dying sangheili's armor melted and steamed as the balls of superheated plasma impacted its back. The VIP kicked the corpse 2 meters through the air to knock his lone remaining foe off of his feet. Before the enemy could rally itself, the VIP had rushed over and cut off his head with a single, exact slice. It was only now that Locke got a good look at the individual Osiris had come here to rescue.

 

He wore ornate armor. It consisted of curved, organic looking heavy plates over an armored undersuit. The helm was stylized, with a rear fringe and curving edges. The plates were colored gray while the undersuit was a combination of black and dark blue. Patterns and calligraphy were etched onto every piece and the undersuit itself seemed alive with alien designs. The weaponry he carried was also ornate; the energy sword was a deep orange rather than the usual blue-white and its hilt was engraved with ancient war proverbs. Even if Locke hadn't spent years of his life studying this sangheili, he would have instantly recognized who it was.

 

The Arbiter.

 

The sangheili head of state whirled and faced the latest intruders. His mandibles spread in shock as he recognized that the latest arrivals were human supersoldiers.

 

“Spartans?” he asked, seeming far more surprised than he should have. It sounded like he was unaware of their presence on the planet at all. “What is the meaning of this?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Halo 5 had, as far as I could tell, precisely zero references to Hunt the Truth. Given how outstanding that audio drama is, this is a huge missed opportunity. Even if the story of the game was already finished, they could have at least included some text logs or something. 
> 
> Note: I plan on having Locke's faith in ONI eroded bit by bit over the course of this story. The thing about over-compartmentalization and constant lying is that eventually you alienate even the people that directly work for you. How am I pulling it off?
> 
> Note: I had to restrain myself from having Locke call the sangheili 'filthy xenos'. I think there's a bit of the mindset of the Imperium of Man in both him and ONI in general, at least where it comes to aliens. 
> 
> Note: Mahkee 'Chava, the female pilot that ferries Osiris around in the game, is going to be a major character in the Sanghelios arc. Another colossal missed opportunity that I plan on taking advantage of in my version of the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	28. Ch 27 Interrogations and Posturing

****

Chapter 27: Interrogations and Posturing

 

The interrogation room was clean and well lit. There were no chains, no bloodied instruments, and certainly no screams of other prisoners being tortured.

 

Security Chief Mahlo 'Turagg could tell that his prisoner was still confused by this. The diminutive unggoy doubtless expected a painful torture followed by an even more painful execution. Instead, he had been calmly and peacefully arrested, detained in a cell as clean and neat as the room he now sat in, and then brought to his current location to be questioned. He had been treated politely and non-violently by the guards that had escorted him. He had received decent food, a heated room, and timely replacement methane tanks. It was quite a contrast to the way prisoners were treated in the Covenant.

 

The security feed showed the unggoy, Ma-sam, fidgeting in his seat and glancing around the empty room nervously. 'Turagg decided that he had waited long enough. He left the security room and joined his prisoner. Ma-sam jumped as he entered the room. However, he calmed as he recognized 'Turagg from his previous visits.

 

The sangheili Security Chief grinned internally. He had his prey right where he wanted him.

 

“Hello again, Worker Ma-sam,” he began in a polite, conversational tone. “Let's get those restraints off, yes?” 'Turagg removed the shackles from Ma-sam's wrists. The circles of contained energy blinked out of existence, leaving only a small emitter device which fell into 'Turagg's palm.

 

“Are you hungry? I understand it has been some time since you have eaten,” the Security Chief continued. He sat down across the small, plain table from his prisoner. Even sitting down, he towered over the meter-tall sapient. He made sure that his posture and gestures were as non-threatening as possible to reduce the intimidation factor.

 

Ma-sam looked about to shake his head and decline food once again, but unlike in their previous visits he checked himself. He spoke hesitantly, quietly, as if afraid to incur the wrath of a whip. “If-if it is not burdensome, Master, I-I would like some nu-nutrient paste.”

 

'Turagg grinned slightly and waved away his concerns. “It is no trouble at all, my friend,” he said, taking out a communicator and signaling for some of the unggoy's usual feed. It arrived promptly. After a moments hesitation, and a nod of assent from 'Turagg, Ma-sam extended an emergency induction tube from his face mask and consumed his meal in a matter of seconds. Unggoy were accustomed to having their meals interrupted, by battle or fresh demands from their masters, and they had learned to eat swiftly to avoid empty bellies. The Security Chief waited patiently for him to finish before continuing. “I am happy to see your condition improving, Ma-sam. Perhaps now we should discuss your situation, yes?” Ma-sam froze. His eyes widened, seeming to extend down to the breath mask that covered his mouth and nose. The methane breather seemed about ready to hyperventilate in his respirator. 'Turagg held up a 4-fingered hand. “Peace, Ma-sam,” he said in a calming tone. “If I intended you harm, rest assured you would have already received it. I simply wish to discuss your situation...And how you might go about improving it.”

 

The unggoy stared at him still, but his breathing seemed to calm, at least. The Security Chief waited patiently for his subject to respond. It would not do for this interaction to be one-sided.

 

At last, after what seemed like an eternity, Ma-sam responded. “W-what is it that you want, Master?”

 

'Turagg spread his mandibles in another grin. He didn't make it too wide, though. He didn't want the diminutive creature to get too good a look at his sharp teeth.

 

“Please, Ma-sam, call me 'Chief 'Turagg',” he said, still using that calming tone. “You are a free unggoy now, remember? There are no slaves in the Arbiter's new nation.” Wonder and disbelief filled the unggoy's eyes. Even after days of gentle treatment, he still clearly had a hard time shaking generations of conditioned fear and subservience. 'Turagg continued, “However, with your freedom comes responsibilities. Which you have recently broken.”

 

The unggoy prisoner swallowed and paid nervous attention as the Security Chief laid out the facts. “You served in the capital, correct? As part of the Sanitation Guild?” Ma-sam nodded. “Recently, the Arbiter ventured into the wilderness to investigate a historical site of great significance. You knew of this journey, correct? It is no use denying it, friend. We intercepted the transmission you sent out. We _know_.” Again with the trembling. “What we do not know, is why? Why would you betray the leader who has been so kind to you? He, who has given you so much? Hmm?” Silence.

 

Again, 'Turagg let out his practiced sigh. “You are being charged with high treason, Ma-sam. You know what penalty awaits you, correct?” More trembling. “I will take that as a yes. The question now is, what are you going to do moving forward?”

 

Ma-sam perked up at this. His eyes betrayed the faintest kindling of hope. He seemed unable to believe that there was anything he could do to avoid his fate, but there was clearly a part of him that was desperate to do so.

 

“Do not mistake me, friend,” 'Turagg continued, “there will be no going back for you. Order must be maintained and treason must be punished. But...” he drew out the sentence, opening up a set of files on his pocket scribe, “there are still things you could accomplish. You have a number of pod-brothers, correct?” He was referring to the most common social group within unggoy society. The unggoy breathed methane, a rare feature within the Covenant and the Swords, necessitating the diminutive race to wear respirator's nearly everywhere they went. The only places they were free of them were the relatively small living areas, or 'pods', that were assigned to them. They were typically divided into units that housed roughly 20 individuals in order to avoid losing too many if there was an environmental systems failure.

 

The unggoy froze when 'Turagg mentioned the only family he had had since he came of age. He was clearly about to desperately plead for their lives when the Security Chief cut him off with the last thing he expected.

 

“Would you like them to be educated?” 'Turagg asked, to the unggoy's stunned disbelief. “I can see to it that they receive education in a craft. Many of them have been unable to acquire any significant instruction, correct? I imagine you were hoping to spread your knowledge to them when you returned.”

 

There was a significant, pregnant pause.

 

“Yes, Ma—Chief 'Turagg. I was.”

 

It took a significant amount of convincing, several more hours in fact, but Ma-sam finally came to believe that 'Turagg's offer was genuine. The flicker of hope in his eyes grew into a bright light. At last, they came to an agreement, and Ma-sam answered all questions posed to him.

 

Security Officer 'Turagg grinned internally. The interrogators of the Covenant would have applied horrific tortures to this unggoy in order to gain the information they sought. They would have wrenched their answers from screaming lips and then executed the subject anyway.

 

They would have failed.

 

'Turagg knew that torture was a horrendously ineffective means of gaining information. The subject would spout any nonsense, or agree to any prompts, that they thought would make the pain stop. This had been demonstrated time and again during his time in the Covenant, before the Great Schism and the formation of the Swords of Sanghelios. So many false answers, so much wasted time and spent lives. No. The gentle touch, the subtle manipulation, was far more effective.

 

Not that he was lying to the unggoy, of course. Ma-sam's pod-brothers would indeed receive an education. It would actually be part of an initiative that the Arbiter had been planning for some time. The official story would be that the unggoy in question had simply been randomly selected. This would prevent the spread of any notion that deals from Swords interrogators were not to be trusted while still allowing plausible deniability. Telling the truth would be far more appealing than trying to hold back or even lie.

 

This approach was less satisfying, admittedly, but it had proven undoubtedly more effective.

 

This was why the Swords of Sanghelios were winning, 'Turagg believed. They were capable of truly adapting—of recognizing the faults of the past and moving beyond them. The tactical cunning of the Storm Covenant was the equivalent of rearranging the living arrangements on a vessel venting atmosphere.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Halt, Neto 'Vadam!” Security Chief 'Turagg spoke. The sangheili he had addressed paused in the halls of the Arbiter's capital. He looked at the squad of elite warriors approaching him with disinterest.

 

“Greetings, Chief 'Turagg,” he said with obvious condescension. “What is it that leads you to greet me so?”

 

'Turagg's mandibles clenched tightly to his face at the arrogance of this traitor. “You are charged with high treason against the Arbiter. You will submit yourself to arrest and stand immediate trial for your crimes.” The unggoy Ma-sam had been good to his word. On his advice, 'Turagg had investigated Neto 'Vadam and found that the sangheili noble had ordered the unggoy to send a message to the Storm informing them of the Arbiter's voyage.

 

Revolution. That was the only possible objective. Neto, one of the Arbiter's few surviving blood relations, had planned on seizing control of the Swords of Sanghelios for himself. 'Turagg had dismissed him as a threat due to his lack of popularity amongst the warriors and the short list of allies he could rely upon.

 

What 'Turagg had not anticipated was Neto intercepting a message from the humans requesting permission to send a team of their own warriors to Sanghelios. Neto doubtless planned to recruit the humans assistance and use his new allies to maintain his hold on power. It was an utterly idiotic plan, of course. The sangheili would never accept one as Kaidon who had to rely upon the aid of outsiders to cement his rule.

 

Needless to say, Neto had never been quite as cunning as he thought he was. About the only competent part of this plan was how he had managed to conceal the humans' travels until they actually arrived on Sanghelios.

 

This had been entirely too close. The Arbiter was too proud to admit it, but he had very nearly died on his visit to the ancient and fabled Hall of the Elders. When the archeological expedition had sent back word of their discovery, 'Turagg had cautioned the Arbiter to delay his personal inspection. They couldn't spare the warriors to properly secure the site. His words, alas, had been in vain. His leader was insistent upon viewing a find of this significance at once. It was a symbol of everything they were trying to reclaim and everything they were trying to build anew.

 

All of these dreams had nearly been squashed by the idiot noble that was currently being shackled in front of him. Neto 'Vadam had a smug grin on his face as he submitted to arrest. “I assure you, this is a grave error,” he said. “I am blood to the Arbiter himself. These ridiculous charges will never stand.” Neto was referring to the long-standing taboo against a Kaidon prosecuting one of his own kin. No matter how obvious the crime, it always had to be the fault of someone other than the ruling family, preferably someone outside of the keep altogether. It was part of the highly elitist and sectarian nature of their society that had allowed the san 'shyuum to so effectively play them off of each other for so long. Neto was supremely confident in his immunity to punishment. “You will all pay for this.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The assembled crowd cheered as the traitor Neto 'Vadam was decapitated. The Arbiter himself had swung the blade that ended the life of his own cousin. He turned and addressed the hovering drones that were broadcasting the public execution to all corners of his nation.

 

“Let this serve as a lesson to all: None are beyond the law. From the lowest of workers to my own kin, yay, even to my own person. All are subject to justice. All are accountable. For Sanghelios! For our future!”

 

The Arbiter raised his energy sword high into the air. Again, the people cheered, both those at the execution and those watching via viewscreen.

 

Mahkee 'Chava was among them. She was in the feeding hall, watching with the rest of her fellow prisoners. The guards had been instructed to allow all prisoners to view the execution and the Arbiter's brief speech. To see their leader declare that justice was for all, not merely the elite, was a powerful moment even for the condemned. It showed how unique the Arbiter was, how irreplaceable. No other leader would have had the courage and the honor to take such a stand.

 

The cheer turned into a chant. “Arbiter! Arbiter! Arbiter!” The combined voices drowned out all other noise.

 

This was the only reason Mahkee did not hear the prisoner sneaking up on her until he had snaked his arms under her armpits and locked his hands around the back of her neck. He dragged her toward the back of the room, flanked on either side by several of his comrades. The chanting of the other prisoners drowned out any roars of protest she may have uttered.

 

The enemy that was restraining her sniffed at her neck and growled hungrily. She doubted they would be brazen enough to violate her here, but there were other...indignities they could inflict. Mahkee waited until she could see, with her peripheral vision, that they had backed up to the wall. Another prisoner moved to stand in front of her.

 

Mahkee used the restraining hold as a lever to lift her legs off the floor and deliver a kick to the enemy in front of her.

 

Her powerful digitigrade legs shoved her enemy 2 meters back into one of the feed tables. Trays and food pellets went flying as he crashed over the table surface.

 

The kick also had the opposite reaction of pushing her captor back into the wall. He grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. His grip weakened. Mahkee threw her head back, hitting him directly on the snout. She could smell his blood spill out of his nostrils. His grip weakened further.

 

Mahkee broke free.

 

Another assailant attempted to grapple her from the side. Mahkee pivoted, delivering several vicious body strikes as she maneuvered around his grab. Her enemy collapsed to one knee. Mahkee pivoted again and delivered a quick chop to his neck. He fully collapsed to the floor.

 

By this point, the rest of the room had taken note of the combat that had broken out in their midst. A ring of spectators had formed around them. Mahkee could hear some of them betting on the outcome.

 

“Ten shells against the bitch”

 

“Three shells on no-egg. She's got a lot of pent up energy to throw around, you understand?”

 

“Five shells on Nevo. He's been waiting to teach that uppity wench her place for cycles.”

 

_Always the same,_ Mahkee growled silently. 

 

What was left of her attackers moved into position. Fine. They wanted to see what a female warrior could do, she would show them.

 

A siren pierced the air within the feeding hall. Every sangheili present fell silent and stood at attention.

 

Well, all those that were still capable of it. Mahkee grinned in satisfaction.

 

A zealot marched into the crowd, flanked by a pair of guards. He examined those at the heart of the brawl. He lingered particularly on the one who had grabbed Mahkee, mostly because of the blood that continued to leak from his nostril slits. His eyes then zeroed in on Mahkee. She stood tall, refusing to buckle under his stare.

 

“Who, pray tell, decided to interrupt the Arbiter's transmission with petty squabbles?”

 

No one spoke. Least of all Mahkee. The other members of her profession may treat her with disdain, but she was no informant. Besides, finger pointing would only make people less willing to respect her.

 

The zealot waited several moments for an answer. Eventually, he clicked his lower mandibles in a shrug, and ordered all present to return to their quarters.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Pilot Mahkee 'Chava,” a voice called from outside Mahkee's cell. It was a zealot. The same one from the brawl earlier in the week, in fact, once again accompanied by a pair of guards. Mahkee got up from her bunk and looked at the superior officer through the shimmering energy barrier. The barrier abruptly disappeared.“You are summoned. Follow me.” The zealot's words were as free of emotion as they were of room to debate. Mahkee nodded and followed the him out of the room. She hoped that now she would be able to find out just what was going on, and whether she would be allowed to return to duty. Her spirit ached at the thought that all of her labors would come to nothing due to some infraction.

 

Unexpectedly, they stopped next to a bathroom. The zealot nodded to his subordinate, who removed a small parcel from his pack. He handed it to Mahkee. Upon opening it, she found...sanitary wipes and face paint.

 

“You will take these supplies and make yourself presentable,” the officer said. He grimaced as he examined her disheveled appearance. “Move swiftly. He who has summoned you is not one to be kept waiting.”

 

Mahkee suppressed a scowl. She nodded once more and entered the bathroom, moving toward the mirror on the far side. She used the sanitary wipes to clean her face as well as possible. She sighed as she opened the container of face paint. She dipped her fingers in and began the laborious process of applying the appropriate markings to her facial features. She needed to spend an obscene amount of time every day preparing her physical appearance. She reflected on the fact that none of the male warriors were required to do any such thing.

 

Nearly two-quarters of an hour later, Mahkee's appearance was what current society would deem 'presentable'. She closed the container and left the bathroom. The zealot examined her for a moment before nodding. Good enough. She was careful not to allow her annoyance to show on her face as they moved out once more. She had learned early on in her career that such displays would only worsen her situation.

 

The journey to the interrogation room was uneventful. The corridors were bare and entirely empty. It occurred to her that this was strange. There should have been at least some people moving about the place. She noticed that the guards outside what she took to be the door to her interrogation room were unusually heavily armed and armored. She was thoroughly searched prior to being ushered into the room. To her relief, the guards were at least professional enough not to grope her as they did so. She entered the room.

 

The door closed behind her and Mahkee was alone with her interrogator. For a moment, she didn't recognize him. Not because she didn't know who he was. Rather, because her mind could not accept that she was alone in a room with him. Her hero. Her leader.

 

The Arbiter.

 

The supreme leader of the Swords of Sanghelios examined her closely. “I take it you are Mahkee 'Chava?”

 

Abruptly, Mahkee remembered herself. She snapped to attention and pressed her fist to her chest in a salute, bowing her head so deeply that she actually lost sight of her idol. She was in such a rush to show her leader appropriate respect that she effectively punched herself with her salute. She would doubtless have quite a bruise.

 

It was nothing less than she deserved. She could feel her scales discolor slightly as she imagined the wide-eyed, slack-jawed, idiotic expression that must have been on her face.

 

The Arbiter returned her salute. “Please, have a seat,” the Arbiter said. She nodded enthusiastically and sat on the firm padding across the low table from her host. She could scarcely believe it. She was having a conversation with the Arbiter himself! She couldn't wait to tell her friends.

 

“It is my understanding that you are responsible for the...unusual reinforcements that came to my aid,” the Arbiter said after they had both sat down. Mahkee grew nervous.

 

“Yes, Arbiter,” she replied hesitantly. “I knew that there were no other units in range. I apologize if the presence of the outlanders was offensive in any way.”

 

“That remains to be seen,” the Arbiter began. “What concerns me for the moment is the fact that you received the distress call at all. It was on a highly ranked channel. Only those far above your station are permitted to monitor it.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I examined your record. Those who have commended your skills are among my greatest and most trusted trainers. You are an accomplished and loyal warrior, clearly qualified beyond your current rank. I wonder why you broke protocol in such a way.”

 

Mahkee's blood ran cold. She resisted the urge to swallow.

 

“Arbiter, I know that my actions were in violation,” she replied in an apologetic tone. “I found the orders from my superior, Neto, to be...strange. I knew him to be a cowardly and ambitious man,” she spat, “and I feared that he may have been plotting some treachery. I knew that it would do no good to voice my concerns without proof, so I monitored the frequency that he had expressly forbidden me to listen to.”

 

The Arbiter studied her for a moment. Mahkee began to sweat. “I believe that you saw his disloyalty,” he said, “but I detect something else behind your words. There is some other aspect of his nature that you found offensive, no?”

 

There was a moment of silence. Mahkee knew better than to voice her complaints. However, she knew that it would be far more foolish to try to deceive the Arbiter. She chastised herself once again, this time for thinking she could conceal something from the greatest of the sangheili.

 

“Yes, Arbiter,” she said hesitantly. “Neto was...a poor superior. He took offense at females being allowed to occupy the positions of warriors. He would often mock and belittle me, and encourage others in his service to do the same. He routinely gave me duties beneath my station. I believe he also held me back from advancement in the ranks for no reason other than my sex.”

 

There. It was said.

 

The Arbiter examined her once again. Mahkee could feel her pulse pounding as she awaited his response. Would he believe her? Would he dismiss her as a liar, as so many others had done? Would he punish her all the more severely for her accusations?

 

The moments dragged on as the Arbiter continued to examine her. Mahkee felt as if he were probing every corner of her soul, looking for deception of any kind. When he finally spoke it was slowly, cautiously. “Perhaps you speak the truth,” he began. “However, your violation of protocol and rank cannot go unpunished. I am hereby restricting your access to recreation and docking you a month's salary. However, I am also reinstating you to active service and assigning you to be the chief escort of the Spartans that you brought here. They will remain on Sanghelios until I decide to permit them to leave.”

 

At first, Mahkee was devastated. She would have to look after _humans_? This seemed like yet another menial assignment inflicted upon her. After a moment's reflection, however, she realized the great duty she was being entrusted with. These were the first sapient beings outside of the sangheili government to be permitted upon Sanghelios in millenia. She would be responsible both for their protection and the protection of all they may harm or offend. The 'punishment' was merely a pretense to give her the chance to truly prove herself. She forced her face into a solemn expression.

 

“I understand, Arbiter. I accept my punishment with gratitude for your mercy.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Massive double doors opened in front of Spartan Locke. He walked into the long room, flanked on both sides by the most heavily armed and armored sangheili he had ever seen. The doors shut behind them. He knew that they were silent, but he could swear he heard them slam shut with the finality of a coffin's lid.

 

_Really wish I hadn't agreed to meet the Arbiter alone,_ Locke thought with unease. The rest of Osiris was waiting in the military base they had been sequestered in while their squad leader was escorted to the Arbiter's palace. 

 

The party moved toward the front of the long room. Ornate tapestries adorned the walls. Significant moments in the history of the sangheili species were depicted in luxurious detail. The great deeds of Arbiters past were a common topic. Burgundy was, naturally, the predominant color, but the entire spectrum seemed to be represented, with particular attention to gold, silver, and purple.

 

The final tapestry depicted the last major battle of the so-called 'Great Schism'. The Arbiter stood proudly, sword in hand, above the slain corpse of the Prophet of Truth. The leader of the san 'shyuum religious species, and the architect of the attempted extermination of the sangheili race, had indeed been killed by the Arbiter himself. However, there was a rather glaring omission: the presence of the Master Chief.

 

The legendary Spartan had fought alongside the Arbiter in that final battle. It was entirely correct to say that the sangheili would have lost without human assistance. It didn't surprise Locke that they would choose to leave out that little detail.

 

_Ungrateful pricks_ , Locke thought. 

 

The architecture was similarly ornate. There were arches of curved stone and a high ceiling covered in artistry. The room was lit by large windows on one side, giving a natural quality to the ostentatious style. There was no mistaking it: this was a room meant to impress.

 

However, Locke could see the emitters for the energy barriers that would block the windows in case of an emergency. It seemed that they were not so invincible, after all. Locke grinned internally. He couldn't afford to show his pleasure with his helmet currently attached to his utility belt.

 

They made it to the front of the room at last. Before him was a raised portion of the floor. On top of it was a throne. Unlike the rest of the room, the throne was fairly utilitarian. It featured a simple, un-cushioned seat of gray metal, with a similarly bare back. The chair looked strong enough to take a hit from a rocket launcher without scratching. It seemed that the ornamentation of the throne room did not extend to the ruler himself. Locke wondered what that was meant to signify.

 

Atop the throne was the Arbiter.

 

The sangheili head of state sat with an upright posture. His hands lay restlessly on the armrests of his throne. Sunlight reflected off of the silver plates of his traditional armor. His deactivated energy sword rested within easy reach on the right armrest. He watched Locke expectantly.

 

The Spartan stood straight and placed his fist against his chest in a salute. Had he been a member of the Swords of Sanghelios, he would have knelt to the floor. In fact, the rules of sangheili propriety probably demanded he do that anyway.

 

Locke didn't care.

 

There was no way in hell he would bow to any sangheili. Ever.

 

Thankfully, the Arbiter seemed satisfied with Locke's show of respect. He nodded and Locke took that as permission to drop the salute. “Greetings, Spartan,” the Arbiter said. He rose out of his chair and placed his energy sword on his hip. “Come with me,” he said, moving toward a high table in a small alcove on the side of the room.

 

Locke followed, more uneasy than ever. They both took up positions on opposite sides of the table. On it was projected a map of Sanghelios. The burgundy colored portion representing Swords territory was larger than the purple representing the Storm by several orders of magnitude. It seemed the sangheili civil war was just about over.

 

_Good,_ Locke thought. He may dislike the sangheili in general, but the Storm were a special brand of scum. He'd lost people to those monsters. People who had lived through the darkest days of the War only to get offed by the bastard offspring of the Covenant. Locke forced himself to focus on the present. 

 

The Arbiter spoke first. “Tell me, Spartan, what do you think of my people's homeworld?”

 

Honesty was out of the question. Locke was sorely tempted to respond, 'It would be lovely if it weren't for all the split-lipped freaks,' but his own catharsis would not be worth the damage.

 

“It's beautiful. A true gem of the stars,” he said. That seemed to be the safest option.

 

The Arbiter examined him for a moment, seeming somehow unsatisfied with the response. “I must confess, the path your life has taken is an...interesting one, Spartan Locke.”

 

_That_ was not something he had expected. Was the sangheili saying that he had heard of Locke, specifically? “What do you know of my life, Arbiter?”

 

“I know that you once advocated for my assassination,” the sangheili responded. “I also know that, had the War not ended when it did, you would have been the one sent to accomplish it.”

 

Silence.

 

“If I asked how you knew that,” Locke replied after several seconds, “would I receive an honest answer?”

 

“Honest, yes,” the Arbiter replied, grinning, “Complete, no. Suffice it to say that my spy ring is more extensive than you may realize. _Agent_ Locke.”

 

Another silence. Locke stared with a stone face, careful to give nothing away. The sangheili couldn't possibly know of his true allegiance. There was just no way. This had to be a bluff; a shot in the dark meant to trick him into revealing something.

 

The part about Locke advocating the Arbiter's assassination back in the Human-Covenant War was true, though. As was the part about him being the likely candidate to carry it out. He had pushed for the privilege, actually.

 

Locke recognized the game the Arbiter was playing. The throne room showed that the Swords of Sanghelios had wealth. The guards, armor, and map showed they had military might. Now, the Arbiter was showing that ONI, an organization that prided itself on Intelligence ans secrecy, had somehow let slip very...uncomfortable information.

 

“Fair enough,” Locke replied, deciding not to pursue an avenue of discussion in which he had a disadvantage. “But it's _Spartan_ Locke, now.” It wouldn't do to confirm his true allegiance. “Will my past in regard to you prove a hindrance to our cooperation, Arbiter?”

 

To his surprise, the Arbiter laughed. A sangheili laugh was a loud, guttural thing, half roar and half snort. It was rather unpleasant, in Locke's opinion.

 

“Not at all!” the sangheili said. “In fact, I like you better for it. Assassinating an enemy commander in wartime is simply good strategy. Besides, I would be lying if I said that I am not flattered to have been considered formidable enough a foe to warrant direct targeting. You showed admirable perception, Spartan Locke.”

 

This pissed Locke off more than anything else he'd experienced since he got there.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“So we get to stay?” Vale asked in an irritatingly hopeful tone. She and the rest of Osiris were being briefed on what Locke and the Arbiter had decided upon in their meeting.

 

“That is correct, Spartan Vale,” Locke replied with a sigh. She really was getting on his nerves with that enthusiasm of hers. “Pilot Mahkee 'Chava will be will be our escort and guide for the duration,” he said, gesturing to the female sangheili standing beside him.

 

“You have been assigned quarters in one of the smaller, ancillary barracks,” she said, gesturing to a corner of the extensive permanent military base they were currently standing in. “You will remain there until you are cleared to search for your missing warriors.”

 

The news that Guardians were activating had been kept secret. The Guardians had been incorporated into sangheili mythology as harbingers of the apocalypse and it had been decided that notifying the public of their presence might destabilize things just when they were getting settled. Locke had also sold the Arbiter the cover story that a renegade group of Spartans, whom Locke had left anonymous, was attempting to harness the Guardians for their own purposes. It was the hunt for these errant warriors that served as the official explanation for their presence. That would be the stated reason for why Osiris was accompanying survey teams heading out and scanning the planet. The rank and file would think they were looking for humans, while they were also scanning for the Guardian.

 

Mahkee continued to instruct Osiris on the current situation. “You may settle yourselves into your quarters now. I will contact you over you comms when it is time to depart on the first search. Know, however, that you will be watched.” Locke nodded in confirmation. Mahkee moved to take her leave.

 

“Pilot 'Chava, wait,” Vale said. The sangheili paused. “I wondered if I might converse with you. There is much I wish to know about your world and your life.”

 

Mahkee stared at her, nonplussed. “...I suppose that would be acceptable. It must be later, though, as I have duties to which I must attend.” Vale nodded in agreement. Mahkee finally left.

 

“See somethin' you like?” Buck joked. Vale punched him on the shoulder.

 

“Oh, hush,” she said. “You get ahead in life by making _friends,_ Buck, not enemies.”

 

_Agree to disagree on that one_ , Locke thought with a mental snort. 

 

The members of Fireteam Osiris then carried their gear, including food and personal hygiene tools, to their new quarters.

 

“I'm impressed the Arbiter has females in his ranks,” Vale prattled on. “War has traditionally been a male's role amongst the sangheili.”

 

“We know, Vale,” Tanaka replied, rolling her eyes. “We've read the files, too, remember?”

 

Vale blushed a bit behind her visor. “Right. Sorry. Just a little excited, is all.”

 

“Remind me not to let you drink any coffee while we're here, okay?” Buck joked. Now it was Vale that rolled her eyes. Locke wondered if their humor was an attempt to mask their unease about being amongst the sangheili, or if they really were this stupid.

 

Fireteam Osiris arrived to find their barracks still under construction. Patches of the walls and floors had been torn up and piping was lying about in stacks. From what he could tell, the workers were installing some kind of plumbing system into what were obviously showers and a latrine.

 

What surprised Locke, almost to the point of being speechless, were the workers themselves. A half-dozen sangheili workers were hard at work...under the direction of an unggoy supervisor.

 

“No, no, not there!” the unggoy all but shouted in the high-pitched tone common to his kind. “The 5-cm piping goes to the _right!_ ” Rather than crush the impertinent pip-squeak as Locke would expect, the sangheili worker apologized and moved to follow the unggoy's direction. Locke had known that some unggoy were helping in job retraining programs to advance sangheili independence, but he hadn't quite believed it until now.

 

A pang of annoyance shot through Locke as he realized they had been assigned a half-complete room. This had to be an intentional insult.

 

The unggoy looked at some kind of device attached to his wrist. “Alright, guys, time for the mid-day meal. I expect you all back here in 1 hour, understood?” The sangheili workers responded in the affirmative.

 

“Excuse me,” Locke moved forward and addressed the unggoy. He had no interest in waiting for these people to finish up and get the hell out of his quarters. If the diminutive, meter-tall alien was intimidated by Locke's size or surprised by his species, he didn't show it. “We're Fireteam Osiris. These are supposed to be our quarters.”

 

“Yeah, I heard about you guys,” he responded. “Name's Sub-Coordinator Drab-Lim. Sorry for the delay, but Guild rules dictate a mandatory break at least once every 6 hours. We'll get back to work as soon as mid-day meal is over. Should only take a couple hours once we're back on it.”

 

_Definitely_ an intentional insult. 

 

“There isn't any way to speed things up?” Locke growled out. Once again, if the unggoy noticed anything out of the ordinary, he didn't show it.

 

“Sorry, bud, but rules are rules,” he replied.

 

“I'm sure your people can make an exception for visiting dignitaries,” Locke ground out. He moved closer so that he was staring down at the pip-squeak. He was _not_ going to be humiliated by an unggoy.

 

Drab-Lim seemed to swallow under his breathing mask. For a moment, it looked like he was going to cave. Then, he rallied and stared Locke dead in the eyes. “We're moving as fast as we can, sir. You can only push a worker for so long before the quality of their work starts to suffer. We'll get right back to work— _after_ we rest up.”

 

This was unbelievable. Locke was about to cut the little alien down to size when a typed message appeared on his visor. His display identified it as coming from Vale.

 

Sir, this is probably a test. If we treat the Arbiter's people unfairly we'll probably be penalized, Sir.

 

Locke grit his teeth. She was right. It probably was a test. He couldn't just let this go, though. This little prick needed to be put in his place.

 

There was a long, drawn out silence as Locke and Drab-Lim stared at each other.

 

“So, um, Sub-Coordinator Drab-Lim,” Vale spoke up. Both Locke and the 'Sub-Coordinator' turned to look at her. She continued, “I noticed that all of this piping looks new. If I may ask, why wasn't there any plumbing earlier?

 

The unggoy seemed to recognize this as an attempt to break the stalemate peacefully. He shook his head and began an explanation, pointedly not looking in Locke's direction the entire time. “You should have seen this place when I first got here. It was mostly constructed back in the early days, right after the Great Schism ended. The big bosses were still trying to get the huragok to do all the planning. They gave the smart gas-bags a fairly detailed description of what they needed. Problem was, nobody mentioned a plumbing or sanitation system. Those military types just...didn't think of it.” He shook his head. “You believe they'd built almost this entire fortress before anybody noticed they hadn't installed any toilets or showers? The place was a mess. Literally. They had to have runners transporting containers of waste and dumping it in big ditch outside the perimeter. I tell ya, the huragok are brilliant engineers, but they've got  _no_ minds for planning. Tell 'em to build ya something, they can give ya a perfect example of whatever ya want. Tell 'em to  _design_ something for ya, you've got nothing but a mess.”

 

“This is all _fascinating_ , really,” Locke interjected sarcastically, “but just what are we supposed to do while we wait?” 

 

The 'Sub-Coordinator' seemed to think for a minute. “There's a bare patch of ground over that way that the warriors use for exercises. Maybe you could go there, do whatever it is you warrior types do to stay sharp?” Locke considered stepping on him. He decided not to, but only because of Vale's words. “Look, I'd love to talk, but I've got to go on break, too. Be back soon.” The unggoy then turned his back on them and waddled away. Locke considered punting him like a football, but decided that his white outfit would make the bootprint too obvious.

 

Locke wondered how long it would take to find the Guardian and, thus, the Spartans IIs. However long it turned out to be, it wouldn't be soon enough for him.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Found it.”

 

The other members of Blue Team paused.

 

“Say that again,” the Master Chief ordered.

 

“We found the Guardian,” Fred repeated. He had been the one the Chief placed in charge of the task of locating the Guardian, as he had the most expertise in technological matters. “The Arbiter's people intercepted some Storm transmissions that make clear reference to it. They used that to narrow down the search area and then cross-referenced that with our readings. We know where the Guardian is.”

 

“So what's stopping you from just telling us?” Linda spoke up. The Chief got the impression that he wasn't going to like this.

 

“It's in Sunaion,” Fred clarified. “the new capital of the Storm Covenant.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: In the game, the Arbiter seems pissed that Locke wanted to assassinate him during the War. This doesn't make any sense to me. Assassination is a time honored tradition is sangheili culture. Plus, they were in the middle of a War. Would the Arbiter really feel broken up about his enemy wanting to kill him?
> 
> Note: The bit about Fred being a technical expert wasn't set up well. This is one of the drawbacks of posting a fanfiction as I write rather than as one solid piece. If this were a regular novel I could go back and change stuff; as it is, I kind of just have to plop it in here out of nowhere. I originally had Linda fulfilling this role, but then I realized I was making her an expert sniper AND a master spy AND a computer genius. Spartan or not, that's just too many things for one person to be.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	29. Ch 28 Fireteam Osiris Goest to War

Ch 28: Fireteam Osiris goes to War

 

The cloud cover finally broke. It was about dawn, just in time for fresh sunlight to shine down on the human colony. Agent Locke shielded his eyes and looked out over the scenery.

 

The UNSC airfield was located just outside the city New Topeka. Lush fields of green grass stretched out toward the horizon, broken up by the occasional hill and patch of woods. It was something straight out of a painting. Locke soaked up the sight while he could; his job being what it was, he didn't exactly have a lot of time to enjoy peaceful surroundings.

 

“Jamie? Holy shit, kid, is that you?” a familiar voice said from behind him.

 

_No way_ .

 

Jameson Locke turned and saw Sgt. Murphy, his old Marine corps. squad leader, walking up to him. Locke stood at attention and saluted.

 

“Pretty sure ya don't have to do that anymore,” Sgt. Murphy chuckled, returning the salute anyway.

 

“If you say so, sir,” Agent Locke said. Sgt. Murphy had pulled Locke's ass out of the fire far too many times for him to ever not treat him as a superior, actual ranks be damned.

 

Sgt. Murphy shook his head and looked his former subordinate up and down. “Shit, look at you, all decked up in your new kit,” he said, referring to Locke's ONI uniform. Locke had left the Marine Corps. to join the Office of Naval Intelligence several years prior. A recruiter had approached him with the offer of a transfer, saying that his skills would make him ideal for a job opening in the intelligence branch. Locke had hesitated, but Murphy had insisted that his brains could do more good in the black uniform of a spook than as a rank and file Marine. He had, of course, been proven correct.

 

Locke was currently on base to collect some relatively low level intel that could pan out to be important down the line. There was no need to be decked out in combat gear this time. The jet black ONI uniform tended to be more intimidating, anyway.

 

“Better than your beat-up rags,” Locke quipped, referring to the sergeant's well used Marine armor. The man was probably still using the same gear he had been issued 2 decades prior. He seemed to hold it together with the same sheer willpower that he used to keep his own battered body functional.

 

“Oh, we an elitist now, Jamie?” Sgt. Murphy quipped right back. “Gotten too high and mighty for us lowly grunts?” He put his hand over his heart, a false look of heartbreak plastered on his scarred face.

 

“Ah, come off it, old man,” Locke waved it off. “We both know you don't got a heart to break. Covies put too many holes through it.” Locke decided to change the subject. “Anyway, what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be kicking ass on the frontier?”

 

Sgt. Murphy snorted. “Had to have my annual check up. Pass half a century and all of a sudden the REMFs start thinking you're gonna croak any day now.” Locke shook his head in disbelief. You'd need a tac nuke to bring down Sgt. Augustus Murphy.

 

An alert went out over the main comms. The dropship heading for the frigate in orbit was leaving in 10 minutes. It looked like Sgt. Murphy had to be on his way.

 

“Send me a comm later in the week,” Murphy said, picking his duffel bag off of the ground. “I wanna hear how you've been making the Corps. proud, ya hear?” Locke responded in the affirmative and watched him rush off.

 

That had been a blast from the past. Locke hadn't really expected to ever see Murphy again. The Human-Covenant War had been going so badly at the time that Locke half expected the human race to be extinct within a matter of months. His assessment hadn't been far off.

 

_Thank God for the Master Chief,_ Locke thought. If it hadn't been for him...

 

Locke shook his head, banishing the dark thoughts. Things had worked out. The Covenant had been defeated and humanity was relatively secure. Locke opened his compad and checked on the status of his package--

 

An explosion shattered the silence over the airfield.

 

A bloom of red flames rushed out from the center of the airfield. A wash of hot air impacted the right side of Locke's face. He drew his sidearm and turned toward the sound of the detonation. A lifetime of experience had taught him the subtle differences between various types of explosions. That was no malfunction.

 

_Oh, no..._

 

The Pelican dropship at the center of the airfield was a smoldering ruin. Locke pulled a headset out of his pocket, linked it to his neural implant, and accessed the UNSC comms. He pulled up the Friend or Foe tags of all Marines present. The base personnel were scrambling to respond to the threat. Locke cycled through the ID tags. P lasma fire started ringing out before he could find what he was looking for. 

 

“For the glory of 'Mdama!” a guttural voice shouted in an alien tongue.

 

A number of sangheili had leaped out from a hiding place just behind some equipment crates. Their fire cut down a dozen service personnel before Locke could even rush to cover and get a bead on one of them.

 

The sidearm he carried proved surprisingly effective. These sangheili clearly did not have quality energy shields. A couple shots were all it took to down them. Locke took out one alien. Then, another. The hostiles quickly focused fire on his position. He was forced to retreat into cover.

 

He had done his job, though. The sangheili were so focused on him that they failed to notice the squad of Marines moving to flank them. The alien bastards were cut down in a matter of seconds.

 

Locke hovered off to the side, staying out of the way of the infantry as they secured the base. He went back to cycling through the FOF tags. His world seemed to fall out from under him as he found what he was looking for.

 

Murphy, A. Sgt.--KIA 

 

This...this couldn't be right. The War was over. They had a truce with the sangheili! The sarge had survived the War!

 

Another, more distant explosion drew Locke's attention. Black smoke was rising out of the nearby city. Sirens and alarms echoed over the plains. It seemed that the strike on the base itself was just a distraction. Who were these hostiles, though?

 

It wasn't until nearly a month later that the new broke of a new faction within the sangheili society:

 

The Storm Covenant.

 

A radical band of those loyal to the old ways who were looking to get right back to where they were a few years ago: burning and slaughtering their way across the stars.

 

Locke had found out long before that, of course. Within hours of the terrorist strike on New Topeka, in fact. What had once been a splinter sect of radicals had grown into a national force capable of threatening the Arbiter and his faction. Humanity had a new, if familiar, enemy.

 

Less than a week after the news went public, Locke had been offered a place in the Spartan IV program.

 

This time, he didn't hesitate.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The memories of the death of Sgt. Murphy, and of so many other fellow soldiers, floated in front of Locke's eyes. He blinked and forced himself back to the present.

 

This was bad. Very bad. ONI Command had determined that it was a near certainty that the Storm Covenant knew of the Guardian on Sanghelios and were seeking a means to control it. However, they had hoped that Osiris would be able to locate the damn thing first. The fact that 'Mdama was desperate enough to launch a raid on Conrad's Point suggested that the Guardian on Sanghelios was out of his reach.

 

Apparently, the situation had changed in the intervening months.

 

“I'm sorry, could you say that again?” Locke asked. Part of him couldn't help but hope that he had misheard.

 

“The Guardian is beneath Sunaion,” the Arbiter replied. The sangheili head of state and the Spartan were currently in a briefing room, a few days after their first meeting in the throne room. Locke had been pleased when the Arbiter called a meeting. He had hoped that some early progress had been made.

 

Finding out that the Guardian was beneath the capital of the Storm Covenant was not what he had in mind.

 

“Jul 'Mdama knows about the Guardian, then,” Locke stated.

 

“Lest you have a better explanation for why he would relocate his capital to a floating city far outside any strategic objective, yes, that is the conclusion,” the Arbiter replied dryly.

 

Locke looked back at the hologram projected over the briefing room table. The City of Sunaion was actually a Forerunner installation. It consisted of a number of interlocking pieces, each the size and height of an average city block, which were held above the water line of a vast ocean by some kind of anti-gravity technology. It had long been held a sacred sight in the sangheili religion, which had been formed around the worship of the long-extinct Forerunners.

 

Recently, Jul 'Mdama, Supreme Leader of the Storm Covenant, had relocated to Sunaion. Following the wholly unexpected move, his forces had fortified every approach. The Swords of Sanghelios couldn't even get close to the place anymore. It was a last stand if Locke had ever seen one.

 

Or, at least, it would be unless 'Mdama succeeded in his quest to harness a Guardian.

 

“Do you think that the presence of the Guardian is the reason for the city's location?” Locke asked. Floating cities were not the norm, for obvious reasons.

 

“We now believe that to be the case,” the Arbiter replied. “It has always been a mystery as to why it was there. Ancient legends tell of a mighty beast that slept beneath the waves, imprisoned by the divine will of the Forerunners. Nothing was ever found to link this beast to the Guardians, however.”

 

“Is there any way we can infiltrate Sunaion? Solve the problem that way?” Locke asked. Blue Team would doubtless be moving to intercept whatever efforts the Storm was making; if he wanted to find them, that was where he had to go. Besides which, keeping the Storm Covenant from gaining control of a Guardian was of immense importance. They couldn't afford to wait for the Arbiter's armies to finally finish off the Storm.

 

“Even if you could, what purpose would it serve?” the Arbiter asked dismissively. “Are you going to secret the Guardian away under 'Mdama's nose?”

 

_That_ pissed Locke off. He was careful not to let his annoyance show on his face, justified or not. 

 

Besides, much as he hated to admit it, the split-lipped king was right. There was just no way to conclusively remove access to the Guardian from the Storm with a surgical strike. The Storm capital would have to be in friendly hands as soon as possible.

 

Meaning that if Locke wanted to complete his objective, he would have to help the Arbiter win his civil war. Fantastic.

 

“May I place a call to my superiors?” Locke asked. “I would like to...aid you in your efforts to defeat Jul 'Mdama and his forces.” Locke tasted bile. Fighting alongside sangheili had been hard enough in the final days of the Human-Covenant War. Doing it again was not at all appealing.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Pilot 'Chava. May we speak?” the red-armored Spartan, 'Vale', asked as she approached the sangheili warrior. Mahkee suppressed a sigh. She had been dreading this. Why had she ever agreed to this human's request for conversation?

 

“Certainly,” Mahkee said, trying to be accommodating. Her job was to be a guide as well as a warden, after all.

 

That still didn't make the prospect of this conversation any more appealing.

 

“Wonderful,” the Spartan pronounced. Mahkee found her demeanor a bit grating. The human continued, “Let's start over with the basics, shall we? My name is Olympia Vale. I am a Spartan of the UNSC.” She pressed her fist to her chest in a salute. At least she knew how to show respect.

 

“I am Mahkee 'Chava. Pilot and warrior of the Swords of Sanghelios,” Mahkee replied, saluting in turn. So far so good.

 

The conversation continued for some time. The Spartan made numerous attempts at idle conversation. Mahkee was careful not to allow any sensitive information to slip past her mandibles. She didn't think this human was attempting to get information out of her—she just seemed too.... _cheerful_ to be a spy—but it paid to be cautious.

 

It became harder and harder for Mahkee to hide her unease. Many sangheili viewed humanity as cowardly vermin who had no skill at warfare, having to rely upon tricks and traps rather than strength. Even the Spartans were regarded with hate rather than respect, in some circles. Mahkee did not share these views. She had learned better thanks to the Arbiter's teachings. However, she had grown up during the War. Back then, every source of knowledge had condemned the humans as barely sapient wretches worthy only of extermination. Even now it was hard for Mahkee to share company with one without her hand hovering near her weapons.

 

“I like your face paint,” the human commented, apparently oblivious about how demeaning the ornamentation actually was. “I've often wished my own kind had similar customs.” Mahkee suppressed a snort. Considering how knowledgeable this one was when it came to sangheili society, it was rather surprising how oblivious she was where it came to gender. Then again, considering the sources she must have studied, Mahkee supposed she couldn't blame the human for having little insight into sangheili females.

 

Unfortunately, while it may not have been the Spartan's fault, her blunder made Mahkee's annoyance with her raise dramatically.

 

On and on the human went, trying to draw Mahkee into a deeper conversation that the sangheili female had no interest in. The final straw came when the Spartan broached a topic that Mahkee had no patience for.

 

“May I ask about your surname?”

 

Mahkee froze. The Spartan seemed to interpret that as a sign to continue.

 

“Are you related in any way to Fal 'Chavamee, the legendary Arbiter?”

 

“Not to my knowledge,” Mahkee lied, making every effort to keep her inner anxiety off of her features.

 

“Oh,” the Spartan replied, seeming dejected. Mahkee hoped that the human would drop the subject. She didn't.

 

“Do you have any relatives that might know?”

 

That did it.

 

Mahkee whirled on the human and stared her straight in the eye. Finally, at long last, the human seemed to realize she was overstepping her bounds.

 

“I must attend to my duties. Excuse me,” Mahkee said. She then pushed past the Spartan without waiting for a reply.

 

Memories haunted the female sangheili warrior as she marched off without a destination. Memories of family members she had lost.

 

And family members she prayed she would never see again.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Swords military base was buzzing with activity. Sangheili and unggoy infantry were organizing into squads. There were no Kig-Yar or Lekgolo. The former, being mercenaries who had sided with the san 'shyuum in The Great Schism, were not trusted. The latter had been decimated in the same war and the Arbiter had relegated them to purely defensive deployments until their numbers could be restored.

 

Zealots barked orders to the squad leaders, who went on to bark orders at the rank and file. Unggoy ground crew rushed back and forth, making sure everyone was equipped and every vehicle prepared for service. Their sangheili apprentices rushed to keep up. They kept careful note of how their diminutive colleagues operated in wartime conditions.

 

Numerous vehicles were gearing up. A blue glow was the only visible sign of the gravity drives that kept each of them aloft. The single-pilot Ghost scout vehicles levitated off of the ground. Shadow ground transport craft moved forward, their centers filled with boxy troop compartments or equipment crates or even smaller vehicles. Phantom dropships lifted off, ferrying troops and supplies to far off posts.

 

In the center of it all, Fireteam Osiris prepared for their part in the final campaign of the sangheili civil war.

 

“Is it just me, boss,” Tanaka began, “or is this mission pretty far from the frontlines?”

 

Tanaka was, of course, correct. Osiris had been assigned to a relatively small force with the task of eliminating a Storm Covenant fortress. Said fortress was about as far from the main offensive as they could get while still, technically, being part of the war.

 

“It may not be directly involved in the final push,” Locke argued, trying to downplay how demeaning this was. He had argued long and hard with the Arbiter about taking a more vital role in the campaign. Using Spartans for anything other than essential operations was a waste. Unfortunately, the sangheili head of state seemed reluctant to allow humanity to share credit for his nation's victory, and had assigned them to a secondary fight. Locke continued his pitch, “But it is an important role. The fortress we're going to take is essential for the Storm's ability to harass and strike into Swords territory. If we remove it, the Arbiter will be able to commit more forces to the final push rather than securing his other borders.”

 

“Makes sense to me,” Buck said, nodding. Tanaka seemed to calm a bit at his words. It seemed she liked the former ODST a bit more than her squadleader.

 

_At least they're bonding as a unit,_ Locke thought wryly. He turned their attention towards a holographic representation of the fortress itself. 

 

Physically, it was more of a settlement than anything. There were no solid walls to speak of. The perimeter was marked off by poles driven into the ground with blinking emitters at the tops of them. The interior of the facility itself was a mess of ramshackle buildings and huts, looking more like the organic, chaotic evolution of an ancient city than a military position. The place was a maze. Apparently, it had originally been a smuggler's hideout before the Storm moved in.

 

Whatever it may lack in aesthetic beauty, it made up for in conventional defenses. The area was mountainous, which would limit any assault force to pick between 3 approaches. Only 1 of which was actually accessible. The other 2 were blocked off by plasma minefields. Naturally, the Storm had heavily fortified the only open approach with everything from Wraith tanks to plasma cannons.

 

Worse still were the anti-aircraft defenses. Massive Type-38 'Tyrant' Anti-aircraft Cannons defended all approaches. The 42.6m long, 45.6m high plasma gun emplacements fired guided spheres of superheated plasma that could knock out any aircraft with a single shot. They had even been used to destroy large starships in-orbit.

 

This was all in addition to the dozens of ground troops that surveillance had ID'd. This was the last foothold that the Storm had in Swords territory. With it gone, the only places left for the Arbiter's forces to strike would be comfortably within Storm territory. Every warrior there would fight to the death to defend it.

 

“So the choice is death by mine, death by gun emplacement, or death by anti-air fire,” Buck summarized. “Which flavor of oblivion are we goin' with, sir?”

 

“By air,” Locke replied. “A diversionary force of sangheili and unggoy will attack the primary approach to keep the Storm occupied. Meanwhile, the Swords are going to be firing shells of snow-blind particles all over the skies.” Snow-blind was a type of charged particle that had the effect of confusing any known form of computer targeting. It was far from perfect, but a skilled pilot could make use of it to bypass conventional defenses. Hopefully. “The shells should confuse the Tyrant's targeting systems enough for Mahkee to fly us over for a hot drop. We bail out, use thruster packs to make landfall, neutralize the Tyrant guarding the east approach, and wait for the main assault force to join us. Once they do, we will move to these warehouse-like buildings in the fortress' center and secure whatever assets are inside. Questions?"

 

“Want me to try to land _on_ one of the Tyrants, boss? With how heavy my damn armor weighs, I may be able to take it out with my landing alone. Kill 2 birds with 1 stone, right?” Tanaka quipped.

 

“Request denied,” Locke replied, stone-faced. “Just survive the fall and regroup at these coordinates. We ship out in 10, people. Move like you've got a purpose.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The darkened interior of the Phantom shook as a shockwave impacted its side. Locke breathed a little easier as Mahkee managed to keep control of the ship.

 

The explosion had been the destruction of the last of their fellow dropships. Locke could see it via his link to their Phantom's external sensors. Thankfully, only COs had access to the feeds, so the rest of Osiris wouldn't be demoralized. They would be the only friendly forces moving to take out the Tyrant. Assuming they got there in one piece, of course.

 

This plan was seeming more insane by the minute. Locke wondered if the Arbiter expected them to succeed at all. Maybe this was just a way to eliminate the troublesome Spartans without having to get his hands dirty. The possibility was distinctly uncomfortable.

 

The interior lighting of the Phantom's troop compartment turned from deep blue to scarlet. They were approaching the drop point.

 

“Move up, Osiris!” Locke barked. He and his squadmates moved toward the rear of the Phantom. They grabbed handholds and waited for their first glimpse of the open sky. The ventral grav lift would take far too long, so they would be bailing out of the seldom-used rear hatch. Locke quintuple-checked his external thruster pack. All green. His suit's internal thrusters could theoretically break his fall, but the strain of stopping a ton of supersoldier and MJOLNIR armor would strain the system to its breaking point. Attaching an external pack was the safer bet.

 

The Phantom's rear hatch opened. The wind whipped by at a deafening speed, eliminating the possibility of verbal communications. The skies were filled with bright, blue-white flashes as plasma shots that had fallen for the snow-blind's trick detonated in mid-air. The interior lighting turned from scarlet to yellow.

 

“Execute jump!” Locke shouted over the comms.

 

Locke leaped out first, leading the charge. He fell forward, angling his head downward with his arms flat at his sides to minimize wind resistance. He needed to get out of the sky as quickly as possible. A large readout occupied a significant part of his upper vision: the altitude sensor. The thruster pack would automatically deploy when it was time to begin slowing his descent, but he didn't want to take any chances.

 

Plasma shots continued to fly past or detonate in the air. One explosion was so close that the shockwave and wash of heat actually made Locke's shields flare up. He carefully used his thrusters to readjust his course. His heart pounded in his ears. That had been entirely too close.

 

Locke was unsure exactly where his squadmates were. He could faintly make out the blips on his visor that represented their current locations but he was far too focused on his own survival at the moment to pay them any real attention. This was normal for any such deployment; there just wasn't time to worry about anyone else with everything going on around you. In the middle of a drop, it was every man for himself.

 

At last, the altitude sensor hit its designated point and the thruster pack deployed. Locke's body pivoted until he was falling feet-first. Jets of white-hot air blasted out from nozzles attached to his back. His stomach lurched into his throat in protest over the sudden deceleration. At last, he hit the ground, rolled, and came up with his battle rifle drawn.

 

A group of unggoy stared at him in stunned disbelief. They seemed to have been in the process of transporting some kind of fuel cells when he landed. Clearly, the idea that a hostile would drop out of the sky hadn't occurred to them. Locke didn't give them a chance to recover from their shock. Half a magazine later, he was the only combatant in sight.

 

A quick check of his HUD told Locke that he was about 100m away from the rendezvous point. He moved out, keeping tabs on his motion tracker out of the corner of his eye.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Fireteam Osiris linked up within the walls of the fortress and made their way toward the Tyrant AA battery. They stuck to cover where possible. The daylight made true stealth impossible, but their skill at covert operations and the chaos caused by the diversionary assault allowed them to avoid combat until their target was in sight. The enormous gun was mounted on a circular base. There was a small interior, blocked from view by solid walls of alien metal. Locke knew from past experience that the interior was a single cramped, circular room surrounding the inner workings of the cannon itself. There should only be a few technicians in there, at most.

 

The defenses around the Tyrant were relatively light: a few energy barriers and some Kig-Yar sharpshooters. Sloppy. Locke was surprised that the Storm still had the finances to pay the mercenaries.

 

Locke motioned his subordinates into position. Buck engaged his cloak and moved toward a vantage point close enough to make use of his submachinegun. Locke gave the order.

 

Fireteam Osiris opened fire. Utilizing precision targeting, the Spartans managed to eliminate all of the exterior guards within seconds. Even Tanaka managed to score a long-range kill by firing her SAW in bursts.

 

They all regrouped just outside the gun. Locke motioned Buck forward once again. The former ODST engaged his cloak and moved inside; a few silenced bursts later, he gave the all-clear.

 

“Tanaka, plant the demo charges,” Locke ordered. “We'll cover you.” Tanaka nodded and moved into the interior. Locke, Vale, and Buck all crouched behind the energy barriers. They were translucent, so they wouldn't work as concealment, but they would at least help them avoid a sniper shot. Tanaka emerged a moment later. A green light winked on Locke's HUD. Excellent. “Osiris, fall back.”

 

Once safely behind cover, Locke sent the signal to the demo charges.

 

The ground shook as a blast of blue-white flames rushed out of the doorway to the Tyrant's interior. The defenses and the bodies of the dead defenders were instantly incinerated by the inferno. A ring of similar fire erupted around the pivot of the gun itself. The gun froze. As the fires faded, Locke could see the metal had melted. The ruptured plasma cells had effectively welded the weapon in place. The Tyrant was neutralized.

 

“Osiris Lead to Serpent Actual, Primary Target neutralized,” Locke commed to the field commander in charge of the operation. “Repeat, Osiris Primary Target neutralized. Over.”

 

“Affirmative, Osiris Lead. Move forward with next phase of operation.”

 

“Copy, Serpent Actual. Osiris Lead, out,” Locke commed. He motioned his squad to move out.

 

The journey toward the exterior perimeter was more arduous than the trip to the Tyrant had been. The destruction of one of their primary defensive measures had alerted the Storm forces that they had hostiles within the perimeter. The Spartan IVs eliminated all opposition with their trademark efficiency, but the delay cost time.

 

Eventually, though, they made their way to the outer defenses of one of the secondary approach vectors. After a quick assessment, they determined that any portable anti-air weapons would be stored in a small, shallow bunker just inside the line. Osiris took the bunker, hunkered down, and waited for the next phase of the plan.  
  


Said next phase crested a hill: a pair of heavily modified Spirit dropships. The fork-shaped craft flew low over the ground in order to achieve their purpose.

 

There were several significant differences between the 2 classes of dropships utilized by the Swords, namely the Spirits and the Phantoms.

 

The Phantom was half-dropship and half-gunship. Emphasis was therefore upon maneuverability and firepower. It had multiple exterior guns as well as a 2 manned anti-infantry plasma cannons that could be deployed from small hatches to port and starboard.

 

The Spirit, by contrast, was pure dropship. It had only 1 exterior gun mount below the cockpit, located at the junction between the 2 'prongs' wherein the actual troops were transported, whose sole purpose was to provide cover for the dismounting warriors. Emphasis was, therefore, upon durability over all else. The energy shield of a Spirit dwarfed that of a Phantom. The vessel itself was composed of higher density materials, necessitating a more substantial reactor to power the thing. It was a myth amongst the UNSC that Spirits were effectively impossible to destroy. The Tyrant guns were, naturally, the exception to that rule.

 

These were the reasons it made sense to use modified Spirits for the task of clearing the minefield. The troop compartments had been removed, most of the armor plating stripped off, and the energy shield disabled. The gravity field which normally kept the prongs from pulling or being forced apart, as well as kept the vehicle itself aloft, had been angled downward. The reactor, free of its normal burdens, was able to push enough energy into the gravity generator to force a solid half-meter of topsoil to be lifted into the air.

 

Thereby setting off the mines.

 

The Spirits' gravity fields arced back and forth over the minefield as they went, setting off every buried explosive in their path. For several minutes an entire portion of the horizon was consumed by blinding flashes and geysers of now-molten soil. When the Spirits were finished, the way had been cleared for the infantry assault.

 

A legion of Ghosts and Shadows moved forward. Their gravity drives allowed them to hover over the ground, which had been turned into a mess of molten silicate particles and disturbed soil thanks to the Spirits' efforts. Dozens of sangheili and unggoy dismounted and pushed into the interior of the fortress. The sounds of battle quickly broke out.

 

Fireteam Osiris followed a small portion of the assault force into the fortress. They moved toward the large, warehouse-like building they had seen in the recon footage. The field commander had expressed great interest in securing the resources within as quickly and efficiently as possible.

 

The assault force ran into a fortified position about a kilometer into the fortress/city. Portable energy barriers had been deployed. Multiple sangheili were firing from behind the cover, keeping everyone pinned. Locke's first thought was to fall back and find another way around, but the sangheili low officer, 'Fulsa, said that they couldn't spare the time. It was essential that they reach the warehouse as soon as possible. 'Fulsa ordered a group of unggoy to head down an alley and move around to flank the position.

 

The unggoy were ambushed as soon as they entered the alley. Sangheili fired away from the rooftops and from the other end of the alley itself. To Locke's surprise, they didn't employ the usual unggoy small-unit tactic of immediately breaking and fearfully running for cover.

 

Instead, they bellowed a war cry and charged ahead into enemy fire.

 

“Osiris, help 'em out!” Locke commed. His fireteam began firing on the sangheili on the rooftops. They couldn't hit the hostiles on the other end of the alley for fear of hitting the unggoy with friendly fire.

 

Tanaka's SAW forced several sangheili to dive to cover while Locke battle rifle and Vale's assault rifle did the same. The energy shields, frustratingly, bought the enemy enough time to avoid death.

 

Plasma fire from the entrenched position began wearing away at the Spartans' cover. The members of Osiris were forced to abandon the attack in favor of moving to fresh obstructions. Tanaka's SAW made an admirable effort to keep the hostiles suppressed in turn.

 

Unfortunately, it was not enough. Most of the Swords forces they had accompanied had already been downed by the enemy fire. Mounted plasma cannons were blasting massive chunks out of the street and whatever cover the Spartans could find. Soon, there were only the Spartans and a few sangheili warriors left.

 

They were down to the last bit of cover. Enemy fire was beginning to punch through. The Spartans' energy shields flared up as the occasional shot hit them. A tactical retreat was looking in order.

 

Suddenly, the fortified position came under fire from the rear. The survivors of the unggoy flanking charge rained fire upon the enemy with their plasma pistols and scaled-down plasma rifles. Osiris and the surviving sangheili renewed their assault.

 

Locke downed targets with precision fire. Tanaka kept several suppressed, keeping them from seeking new cover; the unggoy cut them down without mercy. Vale and Buck fired short, controlled bursts, serving primarily to down enemy energy shields for the marksmen to finish off.

 

The survivors regrouped once the Storm forces had been eliminated. After that, it was a relatively uneventful journey toward the objective. The scatterings of resistance fell quickly to the vetted warriors.

 

They finally reached the warehouse. Low Officer 'Fulsa motioned Locke forward. He chafed at being ordered around by a sangheili, but they were better equipped for this than this particular group of Swords warriors. Locke ordered Vale to hack the door lock. She did so. Lock opened the door a crack and snaked a fiberoptic probe through.

 

The interior of the warehouse was filled with crates stacked almost to the ceiling. There were no hostiles that he could see. Still, it wasn't in the habit of any Spartan to take chances. He removed the probe and motioned Buck to the other side of the door.

 

Locke threw a flashbang into the interior. It went off. Buck engaged his cloak and rushed in. The rest of Osiris followed. Tanaka, with her strong shields and armor, took the lead once again.

 

No hostiles.

 

This was making Locke uneasy. The Spartans moved into the warehouse with the sangheili in tow. The stacks of crates ended about half-way into the building. It was here that they met their first hostiles.

 

It was a pair of sangheili. They were unarmored and their arms were full of some sort of sacks. They froze upon seeing the intruders.

 

Rather than drop their burdens and reach for weapons, the sangheili gripped their packages tighter and turned to run. They made it less than a meter before they were gunned down by the Spartans. One of the sacks broke open when its owner fell. A material resembling blue sand spilled onto the floor.

 

The sensors in Locke's armor didn't register as any kind of valuable material that was on file. He looked to 'Fulsa and gestured to the stuff questioningly.

 

“Silver serpent venom,” the low officer said with obvious contempt. “It is a powerful narcotic. Many sought comfort in it in the early days of turmoil following the Great Schism. The Arbiter was forced to outlaw the substance to restore order. The Storm has condemned it as sinful and confiscates it whenever they can. Naturally,” he said with a snort, “this does not stop them from trafficking the poison themselves.”

 

“Are you telling me we took time out of an assault for a drug raid?” Locke asked incredulously.

 

“Of course we did not!” the low officer retorted. “The treasure we seek must lie deeper within. Let us continue.”

 

Another storage area greeted them. On the other side, they found that the second half of the warehouse was walled off.

 

A small object arced toward the party.

 

“Take cover!” Locke ordered.

 

The object hit the ground and exploded, unleashing a wave of burning liquid. The napalm-like substance burned hot enough to reduce the crates it hit to puddles of molten slag.

 

Incendiary grenades.

 

Plasma fire soon followed the deployment of the grenade. A small force of sangheili, all of whom wore respirators, had emerged from a small utility room to the side.

 

The battle was brief, but tense. The party fired at hostiles, the hostiles fired back. It was abruptly ended when a stray shot, probably from one of the Swords plasma rifles, managed to detonate another incendiary grenade still attached to its owner's belt. The remaining hostiles screamed in agony as the liquid burned through their shields, armor, and flesh. Gunning them down was more of a mercy than anything, at that point.

 

Moving to secure the utility room the hostiles had emerged from, they discovered multiple crates of incendiary grenades as well as a fair amount of flammable materials. Apparently, the Storm forces had orders to employ a scorched earth strategy when it came to whatever was in the second half of the warehouse. Low Officer 'Fulsa's impatience suddenly made a lot more sense.

 

A locked door blocked the way to the last portion of the building they had to secure. Once again, Vale proved her hacking skills by swiftly overriding the controls. Locke snaked another probe through.

 

The interior was pitch dark. Locke activated the enhanced light mode of the probe. He saw multiple cages. What made him pause at first was the composition of the cages themselves: solid metal. Nearly all alien forces that had once been part of the Covenant utilized energy barriers. Solid metal cages would be viewed as pathetically barbaric by any self-respecting sangheili. Then Locke noticed what was in the cages themselves.

 

“What the hell is going on here?” Locke asked, whirling on Low Officer 'Fulsa.

 

The sangheili pressed forward with great interest. “What is it?” he asked. “What did you see?”

 

“Cages,” Locke bit out. Before he could continue, 'Fulsa had shoved past Locke and pushed into the room.

 

The sangheili pushed deeper into the room. Locke, reluctantly, followed, ordering the rest of Osiris to keep a sharp watch out for hostiles. They quickly cleared the rest of the room.

 

They were surrounded by cages. Within those cages...were sangheili. Female sangheili.

 

“Qeta!” 'Fulsa shouted. “Qeta 'Fulsa! Is Qeta 'Fulsa here?!”

 

A soft, squeaky voice answered from down the row. “Papa...? Papa, is that you?”

 

'Fulsa rushed toward the noise. He dropped to his knees and reached through the bars, embracing the other sangheili as best he could through the bars. Locke saw that they other was a sangheili adolescent. Probably their equivalent of a teenager, if he was judging the size correctly.

 

The low officer assured the girl, apparently his daughter, that he would get her out as quickly as possible. “Papa's here,” he whispered.

 

Low Officer 'Fulsa removed a device from a compartment on his belt and raised it to his mouth. It amplified his voice much like a loudspeaker. “Attention. The Arbiter's forces have arrived. Soon you will all be free. You must wait but a short while, as battle still rages outside. Food and medical supplies will soon be delivered. Rest easy, sisters. The Arbiter has you in his embrace once again.”

 

“Care to offer an explanation?” Locke asked, the sangheili's announcement apparently complete. He had been assuming that the 'resources' he was acquiring would be something like plasma cells or other supplies. He didn't like being left out of the loop like this.

 

“The Storm enjoy taking female prisoners on their raids,” 'Fulsa said. He had crouched back down and was rubbing his daughter's back comfortingly. “They view those of the Arbiter's nation to be infidels. Thus, they claim, the members of the Storm are free to enslave their females and...use them for their own ends.” He gripped his daughter slightly tighter through the bars.

 

It made a twisted kind of sense. Ideologically, it reinforced the idea of the Storm's enemies being sub-human. Or sub-sangheili, whatever. Strategically, it was probably meant to weaken the resolve of the Swords populace. Locke silently snorted in contempt. Historically, such efforts had only ever galvanized populations to fight ever harder. Campaigns of terror rarely worked in the long run.

 

For some reason, that fact bothered Locke more than it should have. More than it _would_ have, a month or two ago. He looked around the room.

 

Something about the sangheili captives was bothering Locke. There was something almost...familiar about them. Many of them were malnourished and had clearly suffered signs of physical abuse. In many of them their scales had turned from gray to a sickly dirty yellow. His helmet's sensors were picking up the scents of waste, filth, and fecal matter. These sangheili were suffering. Badly.

 

It was something about their eyes, though. Something about the way that fear and desperation were waging their own inner war within the hearts of all those present. Some had clearly already lost said war. Others were still fiercely fighting it.

 

The room started spinning. Impossibly, Locke was starting to feel claustrophobic. He needed space. Needed fresh air.

 

“Stay here, Osiris,” Locke ordered. He was careful to keep his anxiety out of his voice. “I'm getting some interference in here. I'm gonna go outside, try to contact command.”

 

The other members of Osiris looked at each other in confusion. “Sir?” Vale asked, confused.

 

“Just stay here,” Locke bit out. He turned and strode out of the room. He moved as quickly as he could without looking like he was running away.

 

Once he got outside, Locke moved around to the alley on the side of the warehouse. He leaned his left arm against the building.

 

What the hell was going on? What was wrong with him?

 

His self-examination was interrupted by a plasma grenade landing at his feet.

 

Locke lunged away, using his thrusters to amplify his speed. It wasn't quite enough to avoid the blast, but it was enough to avoid being incinerated. He heard alarms beeping in his helmet. His shields were down. Locke drew his rifle and desperately scanned his surroundings.

 

A beam rifle shot him through the chest.

 

Locke couldn't breathe. He felt his chest sear with pain and then grown numb as his armor automatically injected him with biofoam. He collapsed to one knee. Another beam rifle shot passed overhead. Locke scrambled forward, trying to reach the side-alley half-way toward the end of the alley he was in.

 

Osiris, mayday mayday. I am under sniper fire.

 

He had to send a typed message utilizing his neural implant. His punctured lung made it impossible to speak.

 

Locke felt weak. He could barely stand up. That shot must have hit something else. Something vital. He couldn't quite read the alert displayed on the inside of his visor that was trying to tell him of his exact injury. Nor could he read what he prayed was a response from his fireteam, desperately rushing to his rescue.

 

Another shot grazed Locke's shoulder as he stumbled around the corner. The high-intensity energy shot burned a molten trench through his armor. Locke collapsed to the ground. He had lost his battle rifle somewhere. He tried to stand, but couldn't. He crawled forward.

 

Locke came to a dead end.

 

He was trapped.

 

His vision was going fuzzy.

 

Locke turned around, lying on his back, and faced the entrance to the dead end. He tried to draw his sidearm. His hand couldn't quite grasp the weapon. He was helpless.

 

A figure entered the side-alley. It was tall. At least, Locke thought it was tall. He couldn't quite make his attacker out. Then, as it drew closer, into focus, Locke recognized him.

 

The Master Chief.

 

The legendary Spartan II depolarized his visor. Locke saw his face. Saw his eyes. Saw the pain...the grief...the agonized fury burning in those orbs. Burning toward  _ him _ .

 

The Master Chief raised his assault rifle. He aimed it at Locke's head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The 'snow-blind' stuff was stolen from the fanfic 'Mass Effect: Human Revolution', a crossover of the Mass Effect and Deus Ex series. I have no idea if it was inspired by anything else.
> 
> Note: The drug and sex slave thing was based on the real life behavior of ISIS in the Middle East.   
> George R. R. Martin once said something to the effect of “no matter what a writer comes up with, there were times in human history where real people have done something worse.” Yeah.
> 
> Note: I have such an ambivalent relationship with cliffhangers. I hate and rage at them when I encounter them in other people's work, yet I get a perverse pleasure out of using them myself. I guess I'm just kind of sick that way :)
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	30. Ch 29 Purpose and Revenge

Chapter 29: Purpose and Revenge

 

Training.

 

A Spartan's training never stops.

 

John was slammed into the mat. Another wrestling match lost. Sam grinned down at him and offered him a hand up. John took it. They had fought at times, the Goliath of a cadet that Sam was nearly always overpowering him, but the 2 of them had been close friends ever since they began Spartan training. They bickered as brothers do before separating to hit the showers.

 

The scenery became liquid. Suddenly, it was years later.

 

They had boarded a Covenant ship. It was the first time anyone had ever successfully done so. The pint-sized aliens—who would have thought the greatest threat to human existence would be so _small_?--that they had seen continued to fire at them. Abruptly, John was shoved to the side. Sam grunted in pain.

 

The firefight ended. The Spartans placed demo charges to destroy the ship. They prepared to jump back into space.

 

Sam wouldn't be coming. The shot he had taken for John had ruptured his suit. There was no way to seal it. He chose to die quick rather than slow.

 

The Covenant warship turned into a miniature sun as John and Kelly drifted away. Sam was gone.

 

The inky blackness of space became blacker. All light vanished.

 

Years passed once again.

 

John was aboard the UNSC _Pillar of Autumn_ . He watched as the Pelican that contained nearly all of his surviving family rushed down toward the planet Reach. At the time, he had hoped that they would all survive, as impossible as that was. Now, as he watched it happen again, he knew. Knew that by the time this mission was over, there would be only a handful left. 

 

By the time the War was over, there would be less than that.

 

The scenery dropped away.

 

Cortana appeared before him.

 

They were surrounded by hard-light. It was blue. The same blue of Cortana's holographic form. He had been here before, as well. Cortana gave him a bitter smile. She had virtual tears in her eyes.

 

No.

 

Not again.

 

Just like last time, he tried to deny the truth. He tried to insist that he could still save her. That if they just got her back to Dr. Halsey, she would be fixed. She would be okay.

 

Cortana faded into nothing. He was alone. The world dropped away.

 

John was in a cave. He rounded a corner.

 

He knew what he would find there.

 

Dr. Halsey.

 

She was crushed by the collapsed passage.

 

John rushed toward her. He desperately tried to dig her out. Tried to save her. Tried to keep things from happening the same way they always did.

 

He failed.

 

She died holding his hand. She, too, faded into nothing.

 

A vast, empty void surrounded him.

 

John was lost. Darkness enveloped him. He turned this way and that, looking for a path.

 

He couldn't find one.

 

All of the sources of direction he had relied upon were gone.

 

A bright light, brighter than the sun, blasted into existence.

 

A silhouette appeared. It was female. Could it be...?

 

John rushed forward, desperately hoping that his friend was still alive. That he had been wrong.

 

That he could still save someone.

 

A larger shape appeared behind the silhouette. It moved forward, seeming to consume the person he prayed had returned to him. It towered over the grieving Spartan.

 

Abruptly, the shape took on a solid form. John's eyes were adjusting to the light.

 

It was  _him_ .

 

Locke.

 

A fire rose in John's chest. Rage the likes of which he had never experienced threatened to drown him. He glanced around the featureless expanse, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. Anything he could use to hurt the one who had taken so much from him.

 

The light behind the ONI Agent dimmed.

 

The emblem on Locke's chest, that cursed circle within a pyramid within a circle, that all-seeing eye that represented everything John stood against, started shining with a light of its own. It increased in intensity, blinding him.

 

The light continued to build until it consumed the entire world.

 

John couldn't see anything. Couldn't see anyone. Couldn't understand. Couldn't  _see_ ...

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Master Chief awoke with a start. He sat up quickly, grabbing the pistol he had left underneath the bit of matting he used as a pillow. There was no one around.

 

The sheet he was using crumpled into his lap. It was drenched in sweat.

 

Another nightmare.

 

They had been happening distressingly frequently since Meridian. Worse still, they nearly all ended with that false-Spartan. Locke. Just thinking about that name was enough to agitate the Chief.

 

He lowered his weapon. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and cleaned himself up as best he could. He called one of his siblings in. They assisted him in the ridiculously complex task of putting on his armor without technicians and equipment to assist them. The Chief breathed a sigh of relief as the HUD came online. He always felt better inside his armor than out of it.

 

The Chief joined his siblings for the morning meal.

 

Said meal consisted of a nutrient powder that each Spartan added to an open container of purified water. The powder reacted to the water, combining with it to form a kind of paste. The paste was then consumed uncooked. The Chief opened a port in his helmet and inserted a straw.

 

This form of meal allowed for maximum nutrition with minimum storage space. Unfortunately, it had its drawbacks.

 

“Amazing how they never manage to improve the flavor of this stuff,” Fred griped. The Chief smiled behind his polarized visor. No matter how long a soldier served, they never tired of complaining about the food. Not that the Chief could disagree with him. “Tastes like liquidized paper,” Fred concluded.

 

“At least it's high in fiber,” the Master Chief retorted.

 

The rest of Blue Team froze.

 

“Was that a joke?” Kelly asked.

 

“Technically speaking, yes,” Linda quipped. Her characteristically emotionless tone only enhanced the sarcasm.

 

“A bit weak even by Spartan standards but, yeah, it was a joke,” Fred observed. The Chief could _feel_ his grin, despite being unable to see it through the polarized visor.

 

“It's been a while, Blue Lead,” Kelly butted back in. “Glad to see your mood improving.”

 

“Says the one who's been moping ever since we got to this planet,” John replied defensively. He couldn't help it.

 

Kelly shook with silent laughter. She dragged 2 fingers across her visor in a smile. The Chief just shook his head.

 

Blue Team went back to their meal. The Master Chief opened his next ration pack; he emptied it and threw the wrapper on the pile that had accumulated next to him. Over the course of the meal he would consume enough food to sustain a regular Marine for more than a day. The enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes granted to Blue Team by the Spartan II program were impressive, but they forced the Spartans to consume an enormous quantity of rations just to stay functional. They had already burned through enough provisions in their relatively brief stay on Sanghelios to keep a team of 4 Marines fed for well over a year. The paste they were currently eating was actually a type of emergency rations reserved for absolute necessity. It was the only human food the Spartans had left. They'd have to worry about acclimating to local cuisine if their mission wasn't completed soon.

 

A blip appeared on the Chief's motion tracker, followed by the sound of alien footsteps. A member of 'Khebrem's expedition was approaching.

 

“Hail, Spartans,” the academic said. “There is an urgent communication for your leader within the Lich. You must come at once, Master Chief.”

 

The Chief nodded. He had been expecting this. Now that the Guardian had been located, a new plan of action needed to be formulated. Blue One accompanied him to the Lich

 

The 2 Spartans entered the Lich transport. The Chief nodded at the sangheili responsible for communications. Fred took up a guard position just outside the door, his Carbine at the ready, as the Chief entered. The door shut.

 

A holographic representation of the Arbiter appeared above the console located in the center of the room. The 2 soldiers saluted each other in greeting.

 

“I have news, Spartan,” the Arbiter began, once again without needless conversation. If he kept that up, the Master Chief might actually start to like the sangheili king. “Another team of Spartans has arrived upon Sanghelios.”

 

The Master Chief froze.

 

This had always been a possibility. ONI had been able to track them to Meridian, after all. He had hoped, though, that they would be unable to access the sangheili homeworld. There was a chance that it was not as bad as he thought.

 

The Arbiter shattered that hope.

 

“They call themselves 'Fireteam Osiris'. They are lead by a Spartan named 'Locke'. They were brought to Sanghelios without my permission; those guilty have already been punished. I have, however, determined that removing them from the planet could have detrimental consequences for the peace between our peoples. They will remain for the time being. I have withheld knowledge of your presence here, as you requested.” The Arbiter's expression seemed to harden as he continued. “I would, however, ask for an explanation.”

 

The Master Chief struggled to regain his mental balance. The images of his dream, almost forgotten, came rushing back to him. The Chief wrenched himself from his inner thoughts. He needed to respond to his host.

 

“I...know of them,” the Chief replied in as neutral a tone as he could manage. “I did not know that they would come here.” This next part would be crucial. At least as crucial as convincing the Arbiter to allow Blue Team's presence when they first arrived. “They have wronged me and my fellow Spartans before. They avoided punishment and are still trusted by our leaders, but I do not share their confidence. Nor do my superiors. I would still advise telling them to leave, Arbiter.” That was as far as the Chief was willing to go. He had considered telling the sangheili that Fireteam Osiris was loyal to another faction within the human government, one that was not trustworthy, but that would undermine the military threat of the UNSC in the minds of foreigners. Humanity needed to appear strong externally, regardless of internal strife.

 

“In what manner did they wrong you?” the Arbiter asked with great interest. Doubtless, the head of state was eager for some insight into the inner workings of the human military. The Chief would have to tread carefully to avoid giving anything away.

 

“In pursuit of an objective they...made sacrifices that they had no authority to make. They caused me, and my fellow Spartans, a great loss.” The Chief nearly choked on his words. This was difficult, to say the least.

 

The Arbiter stared at the Master Chief silently. The Spartan provided no further information. The sangheili's gaze became unfocused; he seemed to be deep in thought.

 

“I will accept this explanation,” the Arbiter said. “But only for now. I have given you much, Spartan, and I risk much in continuing to play your game. I expect at least some answers in turn. I will keep wary of them, but my decision to allow Fireteam Osiris to remain on Sanghelios still stands. They are my guests and are under my protection.”

 

The Chief had to restrain himself from arguing with the sangheili. He knew that he was dangerously close to overextending himself where it came to the alien chief of state. If he were more skilled at diplomacy he might make more progress, but the Chief knew his own limitations.

 

“...Understood,” the Master Chief replied with a nod. The Arbiter seemed to accept the Spartan's acceptance of the his decision.

 

“Excellent. On to other matters,” the Arbiter began. It seemed that the only way to remove the Guardian from 'Mdama's reach was to take the floating city of Sunaion by force. This meant defeating the Storm Covenant once and for all. Blue Team would be deployed shortly, although their usage would be limited as to avoid Fireteam Osiris learning of their presence. Apparently, they too would be deployed against the Storm. It made sense to use every asset at their disposal.

 

For some reason, this fact failed to satisfy the Spartan.

 

The Master Chief struggled to pay attention throughout the rest of the meeting. The world kept trying to fall out from beneath him. The face of Agent Jameson Locke kept threatening to block his vision entirely.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Something was definitely wrong. Linda watched the Master Chief stare into the distance, seeming deep in thought.

 

Not that she could blame him for his concern. The arrival of Fireteam Osiris was a development that even she had thought unlikely. Now that it had happened, it could be a serious disruption in their plans. Linda waited for her leader to come to some kind of decision.

 

Eventually, the Master Chief stood up and turned to address his squad.

 

“We need to eliminate Fireteam Osiris,” he stated.

 

Linda blinked. That was not what she had expected.

 

“Oorah, sir,” Kelly responded. There was no trace of doubt in her voice.

 

Fred didn't respond, but Linda could tell from his body language that he was uncertain about this. Their primary mission was not supposed to involve deliberately engaging a team of human supersoldiers.

 

Linda was sorely tempted to simply comply with the Chief's decision. She had lost as much on Meridian as they had. However, she had also sworn to herself that she would no longer blindly follow orders. This was something that she needed to think about. She took a minute to do so. Her augmented intellect allowed her to work through the main points in a rather short period of time.

 

“Blue Lead, I feel the need to voice a concern,” Linda said carefully. She was not used to this.

 

The Master Chief cocked his head slightly. It seemed he wasn't expecting that. After a moment, he nodded to her. “Permission to speak,” he said.

 

“Sir, the Arbiter declared Fireteam Osiris to be his guests,” Linda stated, as respectfully as she could. “He wasn't even willing to make them leave. If we terminate them and he finds out, it could be a major incident. It could destroy our standing with him, completely scrub our mission, and endanger the truce between the UEG and the Swords of Sanghelios. This is in addition to the conventional risks in engaging a group of Spartan IVs. I know that they are a threat, but I feel that targeting them would be far too risky. I believe we should trust the Arbiter and stay out of their way, sir.”

 

The rest of Blue Team stared at her.

 

“How can you say that?” Kelly asked. Her tone had a hint of outrage in it. “You know what they're capable of!”

 

“I also know how to assess risks,” Linda retorted. “In my opinion, we can't afford this one. Fireteam Osiris is a risk but not enough of one to warrant this course. There is too much to lose and too little to gain. Sir,” she finished, addressing the Chief. It would, ultimately, be his decision,.

 

Silence.

 

The moment stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Linda could tell that the Master Chief was struggling. She hoped that he was able to stay objective.

 

“Your concerns are noted. However, my decision still stands. Osiris needs to be eliminated.”

 

It was a perfect answer, from a protocol standpoint. The Chief had listened to the concerns of a subordinate, assessed them, and decided not to alter his course of action. Linda struggled with what to do now.

 

Eventually, she nodded in acceptance. She disagreed with the Chief's decision, but this wasn't something that she was willing to outright defy orders over.

 

She just hoped that his decision was rooted more in logic than in emotion.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“We've got a lead,” Linda commed. They were once again utilizing the Morse code trick. They couldn't afford to let 'Khebrem and his colleagues catch on to what they were planning. Done right, the Arbiter would never know who had taken out his 'guests'.

 

“Explain,” the Master Chief commed back. He walked over from where he had been cleaning his rifle. Linda pulled up a map of the region the Arbiter was planning to send Blue Team to next. It had nothing to do with the conversation but it would serve as an adequate cover for what they were really talking about. The Spartans pretended to study the terrain, occasionally commenting out loud about one feature or another.

 

“We've been analyzing Swords comm chatter and have managed to locate where Fireteam Osiris will be in a few days time,” Linda explained. Following the Chief's decision, Fred had modified some of the equipment Blue Team had been using in their search to hack into the Swords comm network. The fact that the academic expedition's communications equipment was only tied into the lower levels of said network meant that they weren't able to penetrate very far, but with Linda's analytical skills they were able to figure out some important information.

 

Such as the fact that Fireteam Osiris was going to participate in an assault on a Storm fortress less than a hundred kilometers from Blue Team's current position.

 

The Master Chief's mind went into overdrive. They would need to move fast if they wanted to intercept them. Osiris may never be this far from the Arbiter's main force again. Not to mention the hostile environment would provide the perfect cover for the Spartan IVs' untimely demise. If all went well, the Arbiter would never know Blue Team was involved.

 

The Chief's polarized visor hid his predatory grin from the others.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Are you certain this is necessary?” 'Khebrem asked. “I would really rather you stay within our perimeter. There are still dangers out here.”

 

“Spartans aren't accustomed to staying idle,” the Master Chief explained. He climbed into the modified Ghost scout vehicle that the expedition had brought with them. He powered the vehicle up and it levitated off of the ground. “I have a hunch about an area we passed. It's nothing major, not enough to launch the Lich, but I would like to check it out. It's more to stay active than anything,” he lied. Linda climbed into the passenger seat next to him.

 

The Ghost's plasma cannons had been removed and a motorcycle sidecar-style passenger seat had been added. The vehicle was meant for a team of 2 to separate from the main group if necessary. The Chief had convinced 'Khebrem to allow the Spartans to borrow it. They would need the fast vehicle if they were going to intercept Fireteam Osiris in time without hijacking the Lich itself. Unfortunately, the vehicle's size meant that only the Chief and one other Spartan would be going. He had chosen Linda as her skills as a sniper would be the most useful.

 

“Very well,” 'Khebrem said in a resigned tone. “But do be careful. We are relatively far from the border but the Storm Covenant has been known to send raiding parties deep into the Arbiter's territory.”

 

“We'll be fine,” the Chief replied. He started the Ghost forward. Within minutes, they were out of sight of the encampment. He gunned the throttle, pushing the Ghost as fast as he dared.

 

The journey proved to be rather uneventful. The destination was in a mountainous area, but the terrain for the majority of their voyage was rather level. They made good time.

 

The Master Chief felt his emotions stabilizing as they went.

 

No. Not stabilizing. More like...fading into the background. Before, he had struggled to keep his feelings in check. Now, it was as if he had become numb. His resolve had not wavered but the fire in his chest seemed to be smoldering rather than blazing out of control. He felt oddly detached as he prepared himself for the mission ahead.

 

It was good to be able to think clearly again.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Infiltrating the Storm Covenant fortress would have been impossible for any ordinary soldiers.

 

For the 2 members of Blue Team, it proved little challenge.

 

The Chief and Linda had parked their Ghost in a small cave and walked the last few kilometers. They waited on a low cliff just above a roadway. A convoy of Storm transports rumbled into view. Right on time. The information Linda had gleaned from Swords comms had been accurate. The Chief sent a brief signal to Linda.

 

A number of large boulders abruptly crashed down in the convoy's path. The vehicles screeched to a stop.

 

Had this been a regular military convoy, the plan would almost certainly have failed. Thankfully, the raiding parties that the Storm sent here were hardly their elite warriors. They were composed mostly of washouts, recruited smugglers, and various psychopaths too unstable for the regular military. Their poor discipline led to them making only a cursory scan of the area and then piling back onto the vehicles. Apparently, they were eager to get back to base and enjoy the 'fruits of our labors'.

 

In the moments before the convoy began moving again, the Spartans had rushed down to ground level and jumped onto an open-topped trailer. They quickly buried themselves beneath the large bags of stolen, miscellaneous provisions.

 

The journey to the fortress took several hours. The Chief didn't care. A bumpy ride under heavy sacks with no ability to move was a small price to pay for this.

 

Eventually, the vehicles came to a rest. The Chief could tell they had arrived by the multiple stops, almost certainly at checkpoints, and the slower speed of the vehicle. When the vibrations of the vehicle itself stopped and the trailer lowered, he knew they had reached their destination. He exchanged a quick series of signals with Linda over their HUDs.

 

The Master Chief maneuvered himself until he was just a single layer beneath the surface of the trailer. He snaked a fiberoptic probe around the bag covering him. They were in some sort of building; likely a garage or warehouse. There were no catwalks or other viewpoints from which a hostile could spot them from above. Excellent.

 

The pair of infiltrating Spartans crawled toward the edge of the trailer. The Chief snaked his probe over the edge. There was no one below. His motion tracker showed only a few hostiles moving away; almost certainly the convoy crew. The infiltrating humans had to move quickly before others arrived to unload the cargo.

 

There was another vehicle just outside the garage. Unfortunately, it pulled an empty flat-bed, meaning there was little in the way of concealment. The Spartans crouched low as they silently moved forward.

 

A kig-yar leaped atop the flat-bed.

 

The sounds of its movements and the size of the blip on their motion trackers was the only reason they knew what it was. The avian sapient moved toward the Spartans' side of the transport. The Chief and Blue Two crawled beneath the flat-bed. They could detect multiple hostiles on the other side. There was nowhere for them to go.

 

The alien leaped back to the ground. It paused for a moment, as if it had noticed something. The Spartans tensed. The kig-yar had legendarily sharp senses. It could have heard one of their normally undetectable movements or even smelled the residue left on their armor from the transported contraband. The Chief silently set down his rifle and readied his combat knife. They couldn't afford to reveal themselves with gunfire.

 

Unfortunately, killing the kig-yar at all would give them away. Its absence would be noticed eventually, and the Swords' assault would not begin for many hours. They had no backup. No quick exfiltration strategy. If detected, they would be overwhelmed and killed by the Storm forces.

 

The kig-yar began moving again. It made no sign of alarm, nor did it move to retreat. The Master Chief started to breathe a little easier. Then, the alien crouched down and apparently began inspecting one of the tires. All it would have to do to see them was lean slightly to either side.

 

Several heart pounding minutes later, the kig-yar, mercifully, turned and left. The Spartans cautiously moved out from under the flat-bed.

 

Decades of experience in covert operations allowed the Spartans to move unseen and disappear into the maze of ramshackle buildings that composed the interior of the improvised fortress. There were several more close calls, but their expertise and the Chief's legendary good fortune saw them through. They eventually found a deserted shack in a dead end that had clearly not been used in some time. They settled in.

 

The assault would not occur for well over a day.

 

The Master Chief and Linda began regulating their breathing. They would spend most of their time here in a type of zen-like hibernation that they had perfected over the course of the Human-Covenant War. It had been necessary to augment the patience that their conventionally impossible missions had required. Their armors' sensors would inform them of any approaching hostiles.

 

It took the Chief a long time for his meditations to take effect. He was anxious to get this over with.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The increased activity during the assault paradoxically made it easier for the Spartans to move unseen. All of the Storm personnel were either looking at the skies or rushing to get to their posts on the perimeter.

 

The duo of Blue Team members darted from concealment to concealment. Crates, vehicles, collapsed shacks, anything that would allow them to evade detection. The scrambling guerrilla forces never stood a chance at spotting them, even as the 2.2 meter tall supersoldiers moved amongst them.

 

All the while, the emotional distance between the Chief and his actions widened. He felt a cold objectivity continue to replace the storm of emotions he had felt when he first decided to pursue this mission. He was still driven, but it was a colder drive. He was glad. The last thing he needed was to get distracted.

 

Storm comms chatter indicated that the members of Fireteam Osiris were moving towards a warehouse in the center of the fortress. The buildings became more solid as the Chief and Linda reached the area around their destination. They seemed to have been constructed after the Storm took control of the place.

 

Regardless of their origins, the newer buildings seemed sturdy enough to hold their weight without collapsing. The Spartans climbed to the roof of one of the smaller structures surrounding the warehouse. They pulled some debris over themselves to block any aerial eyes.

 

The entrance to the warehouse was visible from their position. It had been opened. It was likely that Fireteam Osiris had already arrived. The Chief suppressed a swear. It would have been much easier if they had gotten here when the targets were still in the open.

 

A figure emerged from the warehouse. The Master Chief froze as he recognized the armor.

 

Agent Locke.

 

All at once, John's emotions flooded back into him. Memories threatened to drag him down into oblivion. Memories of Meridian, of the fight between Blue Team and Fireteam Osiris, of the charred ruins of Meridian Station he had glimpsed on the flight out, of the broken body of Dr. Halsey, cradled in his arms...

 

“Blue Two, hand me your weapon,” he commed to Linda.

 

“Sir?” she asked, still aiming down the scope of her Beam Rifle. The target was moving toward an alley next to the warehouse.

 

“That was an order, Blue Two!” he commed angrily. His subordinate reluctantly extended her rifle to him.

 

Locke had already moved out of sight. The Chief grabbed the weapon out of Blue Two's hands.

 

“Stay here. Keep watch,” he ordered. He didn't bother waiting for an acknowledgment. His prey was within reach.

 

The Chief stayed low as he moved to a new position. He adjusted the Beam Rifle to fire at maximum intensity. He would only get a few shots before it overheated, but he needed a powerful shot to break through MJOLNIR Armor. His target was leaning against a building. Was he wounded? The Chief primed a plasma grenade. If he could stick the target, his death would be assured.

 

The growing rage within the Chief made him distracted. He slipped on some debris as he threw the grenade, causing it to land and detonate on the ground rather than adhere to the target himself. The Chief raised his appropriated weapon.

 

The false-Spartan had recovered well. He had rolled out of the way, avoiding the full force of the blast, and had his weapon out. He was scanning his surroundings, looking for his unseen attacker.

 

He would never get the chance to find him.

 

The Master Chief shot his enemy.

 

Locke's energy shield had been depleted by the grenade. The Beam Rifle shot passed straight through his torso.

 

The triumphant elation of the kill was interrupted as the target, stubbornly, hadn't died. The Chief fired again.

 

Locke stumbled. The shot passed clean above his head.

 

The Chief let out an involuntary growl of frustration. He fired another shot just as his target lunged into a side-alley. He fired again, hoping to hit his target through the building.

 

The vents on the side of the Beam Rifle popped open. Super-heated gas rushed out as the weapon overheated. Another growl erupted from his lips.

 

The Chief dropped the weapon on the rooftop. He jumped into the alley and rushed around the corner.

There was a vehicle parked at the end of the side-alley. It was a dead end.

 

There he was.

 

Lying helpless on his back.

 

Locke.

 

_Agent_ Locke, the Chief reminded himself. A servant of ONI. A man who had done inexcusable things at the behest of that honorless den of snakes. 

 

His target was in sight.

 

Something stopped the Chief from just pulling the trigger.

 

Abruptly, he felt the need for his enemy to understand. To  _see_ what the false-Spartan had done to him. To his family. Distantly, he heard the rational part of his being screaming to end this and exfil immediately. He was too exposed down here. He needed to go.

 

The fire blazing inside him drowned the voice out.

 

The Master Chief closed the distance. He depolarized his visor.

 

John didn't have Linda's talents at conveying emotions, real or feigned. Nor did he have the emotional savvy of Kelly. Still, he did everything he could to pour every picogram of what he was feeling into the look he gave Locke. Hopefully, that would say everything.

 

The Chief raised his assault rifle. He aimed it at Locke's head. His finger rested on the trigger.

 

Something stopped him.

 

Something suddenly, inexplicably, held back the fire inside him.

 

John felt a hand touch his arm. He turned. Impossibly, he saw Dr. Halsey urging him to lower his weapon. To stop.

 

The world around him fell away.

 

He was in an auditorium. In the seats around him were over a hundred other children. They looked to be about his age, maybe 7 at the oldest. A woman he would later come to call 'mother' was giving a speech.

 

At the time, it had been hard to pay attention. He was likely still recovering from the sedatives the ONI Agents had used to keep him unconscious during his abduction. However, over the years to come, he would often think about this moment.

 

The moment Dr. Halsey had given him his purpose.

 

“You have been called upon to serve. You will be trained...and you will become the best we can make you. You will be the protectors of Earth and all her colonies.”

 

The present world returned to him. Locke was on the ground, helpless before him. His target was right there. Everything in him roared to end the life of the monster that had killed his mother.

 

John couldn't do it.

 

Something kept him from pulling the trigger. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control.

 

John's arms started trembling. He couldn't keep his weapon on target. He didn't know what to do.

 

“Blue Lead! Incoming hostiles!” a voice, Linda's, shouted over the comms.

 

The Master Chief checked his motion tracker. A group of red blips was rapidly moving to his position.

 

He polarized his visor and rushed to the end of the alley. He leaped 2 meters straight up, landed on top of the vehicle, rushed over its roof, jumped down, and sprinted away. He quickly disappeared into the maze.

 

This mission was over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks. I don't really have an excuse for this. I just kept getting distracted, I guess. Side-note: Anyone play the new Doom? I freaking love that game.
> 
> Note: The Morse code trick was stolen from the fanfic 'Consequences of Revelation'. I forgot to mention it the first time I used it, so I'm mentioning it here.
> 
> Note: Last chapter, some readers commented that they didn't believe the Chief would walk up to Locke and depolarize his visor. Normally, I would be in complete agreement. This is why I've tried to carefully set up how the Chief is in an extreme emotional place at this point. The pain of losing family, the fear of losing more, the guilt at not being able to save the people he cares about, the anger at Locke for being arguably responsible, etc.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	31. Ch 30 Confusion

Chapter 30 Confusion

 

Beeping.

 

That was the first thing Jameson Locke recognized as he drifted out of unconsciousness.

 

_Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep._

 

It took him a moment to recognize the sound of a heart monitor. He must be in an infirmary. How had he gotten hurt, though? It was hard to think. He felt so tired. It was probably whatever medication they had him on. Locke struggled to open his eyes.

 

The sight that greeted him was not the UNSC infirmary he had expected. The walls and the curtains blocking his view of the rest of the room were burgundy rather than gray, for starters. Also, all of the furniture had a more rounded, organic style as opposed to the utilitarian edges that human designs favored. They gave the space an uncomfortably alien atmosphere.

 

The only familiar parts of the room were the medical equipment. These were clearly based on human designs, from the heart monitor to the IV drip hung just to the side of his bed. Even the machines' control layouts were similar.

 

As his mind began to clear, Locke realized that he must be in a sangheili infirmary. He started to remember snippets of the battle he and the rest of Fireteam Osiris took part in. Allies or not, he didn't like the idea of being immobile in a sangheili installation. He moved to sit up.

 

“Whoa, easy there, Lead,” a familiar voice said. Locke turned his head and saw Buck get off of a stool on the opposite side of the bed from the IV drip. He gently but firmly pushed Locke right back down onto the uncomfortably firm mattress. Locke felt a spike of annoyance at being treated this way, but found that his body just wasn't up to fighting back just then. He'd have to reprimand his subordinate later.

 

“Glad to see you back in the land of the living, sir,” Buck continued.

 

Locke grunted in agreement. “How long was I out?” he asked.

 

“About a day and a half,” Buck replied. “We've been watching you in shifts.”

 

“Bullshit,” Locke grunted. “Bet you all drew straws and you got the short one, am I right?” Locke was well aware of the low opinion the rest of his fireteam had for him. It was a continuous point of concern. Unfortunately, he had yet to think of a solution for this problem.

 

“Heh. You caught me,” Buck chuckled obligingly. Locke wondered if his subordinate recognized that he'd only been half-joking.

 

Locke forced himself to focus. He wanted intel now. “So how'd I get here?” he asked.

 

“We got your distress signal,” Buck replied, sitting back down. Locke was impressed that the sangheili had a seat capable of withstanding the bulk of a fully armored Spartan IV. Maybe their heavy troopers weighed more than he thought. Buck continued, “We found you unconscious in an alley. No sign of any hostiles. Vale managed to apply some emergency first aid that kept you stable until we could evac you. We flew you out on the first dropship and rushed you here for treatment. That about covers what we know. You remember anything from before we found you?”

 

The events of the end of his ill-fated mission rushed in on the injured Spartan. The plasma grenade. The sniper shots. The injury. Rushing to cover, only to find himself helpless before his assailant. Then...

 

The Master Chief.

 

The legendary Spartan II had appeared out of the smoke like a goddamn nightmare. He'd approached Locke, depolarized his visor...

 

The look in the Chief's eyes...

 

Locke shook himself. He tried to reason out what had happened. The leader of Blue Team had tried to kill him. That made sense; Locke was hunting them, after all.

 

What didn't make sense was why Locke was still alive.

 

The Master Chief had had Locke dead to rights. There were no obstructions, no distractions. Hell, it had practically been point blank range. Yet, right at the last moment, the Chief had simply...walked away.

 

What the hell was  _that_ about?

 

It was unthinkable that the legendary Spartan II would chicken out at the last minute. Yet, he had left without finishing the job. Why shoot Locke through the chest, potentially inflicting a fatal wound, only to leave without delivering a killshot?

 

Locke realized that Buck was still staring at him. He decided his course in a heartbeat. “I can't remember anything,” he lied. “Everything's all...fuzzy.”

 

Silence. Buck just stared at Locke with a contemplative expression. Did he not believe him? Locke wondered if he was losing his touch. That, or maybe Buck was a lot more perceptive than he had given him credit for.

 

“So,” Locke said, trying to find something to change the subject. He decided on their current location. “I'm surprised the Arbiter's forces had the capability to treat humans. If nothing else, I would have thought human plasma would be in short supply,” he said, gesturing to the IV drip of what he surmised was spare blood.

 

Buck stared at Locke for a second. The look left his face, the man apparently deciding that he wouldn't get anywhere here. He indulged Locke's inquiry, stating, “apparently the Arbiter kept some supplies handy in case he ever hosted human ambassadors or somethin'. Lucky our host's such a forward-thinkin' SOB.”

 

_That, or he wanted to accommodate his_ other  _Spartan guests,_ Locke thought darkly, careful to keep his face neutral.

 

It was a near-certainty that the Arbiter knew that Blue Team was on Sanghelios. He was the most likely party they would go to for aid. If nothing else, the fact that Locke was ambushed on a mission the Arbiter's forces had sent him on would be one hell of a coincidence.

 

If that was the case, though, why did the sangheili bother to treat Locke at all? They could have easily lied and said that they had no medical supplies compatible with human physiology. That, or they could have sabotaged his treatment in some other way and claimed inexperience with treating augmented humans was to blame. The Arbiter had effectively wasted the perfect opportunity to be rid of him.

 

First the Master Chief wasted a chance to kill him, now it turned out the Arbiter had as well. What the hell was going on?

 

Locke was getting frustrated. He needed answers, now more than ever.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The drive back to the encampment felt quieter than the drive away from it had.

 

This was in spite of the fact that neither the Master Chief nor Blue Two had spoken in either voyage. They both kept quiet as statues as the scenery rushed past them. The surroundings were also silent, aside from the occasional echo of the Ghost's gravity drive and propulsion system.

 

Still, for some reason, it felt like a heavy silence had descended that wasn't there before.

 

The Master Chief sat in the modified Ghost's passenger seat. He had ordered Blue Two to take control when they first got back to the vehicle, after they had exfiltrated the Storm fortress.

 

After he had let Locke live.

 

A storm of confusion was still raging in the Chief's mind. Why had he done it? His enemy was on the ground, helpless before him. All he had to do was pull the trigger and a significant enemy would have been eliminated for good. They could have even attempted to ambush the rest of Fireteam Osiris as they left the warehouse.

 

Instead, he had done something he could not remember ever having done before:

 

He had hesitated.

 

He had hesitated, then run away.

 

The confusion was still dominating his thoughts when he noticed, belatedly, that Blue Two was bringing the vehicle to a stop.

 

They were in a narrow chasm of sandstone. The Chief couldn't remember having passed through it on the initial trip, meaning that Blue Two had deliberately taken them out of their way. His subordinate had parked the Ghost under an overhanging piece of rock; if a ship came by overhead, it would be fairly easy to duck out of sight. This suggested that Blue Two intended to remain here for a while.

 

This hypothesis was proven correct as the Spartan climbed out of the vehicle and walked a few meters off. The Chief exited the vehicle as well, careful to draw his weapon in case of hostiles.

 

His teammate had stopped and stood still, seeming to stare into space, for several minutes.

 

“Care to explain yourself, Blue Two?” the Chief demanded. This was a significant deviation from the plan.

 

Blue Two seemed to start at his words. She turned around and faced him, her body language showing clear disbelief.

 

“Explain myself?” she asked. Her tone was largely neutral, as usual, but her stance added an uncharacteristic degree of emotion to the sniper. “With all due respect, sir, I should be asking you that.”

 

The Master Chief cocked his head. “Excuse me?” he asked in turn.

 

Blue Two shook her head in apparent exasperation. “Just what was this whole thing about?” she demanded. “I know it wasn't logical. You provided no counterpoint to my objections back at the camp. Not to mention your behavior during the mission itself. Do you even know why you did all this?”

 

_That_ took the Chief off-guard.

 

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “Fireteam Osiris is an imminent threat. We needed to take the shot at eliminating them.”

 

“Then why didn't we finish the job?” Blue Two demanded. “I know you had him. I saw him on the ground before I fell back. Not to mention the fact that we left without even trying to eliminate the rest of the fireteam.”

 

The Master Chief had to restrain himself from shrinking back. He had yet to find answers for these questions, himself. Still, he had to offer some kind of explanation.

 

“The mission went south,” he offered weakly. “It made sense to pull out.”

 

Blue Two's fists clenched at her side and she looked away for a moment. The Chief got the impression that, if she were a more expressive person, she would have thrown her hands into the air in frustration.

 

“You can't seriously believe that any of this was based on logic,” she argued, turning back to him. “For God's sake, you wouldn't even let someone else take the shot. You literally ripped my weapon out of my hands and then dropped it on the roof so you could finish your target off up close and personal.” She walked a bit closer to him. “Thanks for that, by the way. I had to grab it myself before scrambling out of there. Almost losing another weapon was exactly what I needed right now.”

 

This was getting frustrating. Blue Two was growing dangerously close to insubordination.

 

“He's a threat, Blue Two,” he insisted, angrily. “He's an ONI Agent. He's done their dirty work for years.”

 

“So did we!”

 

The response was sudden and unexpected. Both in tone, and in content. It took the Chief a moment to even process what Linda had said.

 

“That's...that's different,” the Chief insisted. “He knows better.”

 

“Does he?” Linda demanded.

 

Now it was the Chief's turn to stare into the distance and think. She couldn't be serious. It was clear from what they had pieced together that Locke was involved with operations that the Spartans would never have taken part in. He had to be aware of ONI's true nature.

 

Didn't he?

 

Was it possible that their enemy was, also, in the dark as to the extent of ONI's true nature? Or was he deluded enough to think that his superiors would never sink as low as they, in reality, had done years ago? Could he be brought to see reason?

 

The Master Chief shook his head. Vehement disagreement rose from within him. This couldn't be right. He turned back to Linda.

 

“He's a threat!” he insisted.

 

“And betraying the trust of the Arbiter isn't?” she demanded. Her voice seemed to rise with each word she spoke. “Undermining the truce between humanity and the sangheili isn't? Almost getting us both killed isn't?!”

 

“He has to die!” the Chief shouted. “You can't tell me you don't know it too!”

 

Linda shook her head once again. “Do you even hear yourself? You're not thinking rationally. Believe me, I know how you feel, John!” Linda seemed to lose her way here. She was struggling to express what she was thinking. Finally, she shouted, “She was my mother too!!”

 

This last shout stunned John into silence. His whole body froze up. Linda, too, seemed unable to move.

 

Several minutes passed in near-absolute silence. The only sounds were that of the wind blowing through the canyon.

 

Eventually, Blue Two moved back toward the Ghost, apparently deciding that nothing would be gained by further conversation. The Master Chief followed, once again climbing into the passenger seat.

 

The remainder of the ride back was the quietest the Chief had ever experienced.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Kelly could tell something was wrong as soon as the Master Chief and Linda got back. Their postures were both...wrong. She couldn't quite figure out what they were feeling, but she knew it couldn't have been good.

 

“What happened?” Kelly asked.

 

The Chief stared at her from behind his polarized visor. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

 

“When I figure it out, I'll let you know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, pretty short chapter here. I had originally planned to include more but I decided that doing so would take too much attention away from the scene with John and Linda. I'll try to get the next chapter out quicker.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
>  
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	32. Ch 31 Sparring and Speaking

Chapter 31: Sparring and Speaking

 

The sounds of slaughter pierced the walls of the 'Chava family home. The modest residence, barely large enough to accommodate the small clan, echoed with savage roars, bestial growls, and the screams of dying sangheili.

 

Mahkee trembled as her papa and her elder brother readied themselves for the end. The jiralhanae's betrayal had caught them completely off-guard. The ape-like, nearly-3 meter tall giants had quickly overwhelmed their defenses and begun their systematic butchering of her family. The sight of her mother and younger sister being mercilessly cut down had been burned forever onto the interior of her eyelids.

 

There was nowhere left to run. All exits had been taken by the enemy or blocked off. The small guest room they had fled to would be the scene of their deaths. Mahkee trembled and held the small dagger tighter in her grip.

 

All of this was wrong. She had just reached maturity by the standards of her people. Her father and mother had been seeking a strong warrior for her to be wed to. She had hoped that her marriage could help elevate her family out of the place of shame they had been trapped in ever since their ancestor, Arbiter Fal 'Chavamee, had rebelled against the Covenant.

 

Now all of that was gone, like ashes in the wind. All that remained for her, for any of them, was death.

 

The sound of thunderous footsteps drew close outside the door. Her elder brother readied his plasma rifle; her father, his energy sword. There was a silence on both sides of the entryway.

 

The door exploded inward.

 

A shard of the shattered doorway struck Mahkee's brother, instantly depleting his energy shield and slashing his un-armored neck. There had been no time for him to don his full warrior's garb. He fell to the ground, clutching his ruined throat as blood spurted out. He stopped moving within moments. He hadn't even been given the dignity of striking a final blow.

 

Mahkee's father fared far better. By luck, he had managed to avoid any of the deadly pieces of the door, as had Mahkee. He surged forward as a trio of jiralhanae charged into the room. The bestial enemies bellowed in aggressive savagery. The sangheili swordsman answered them with a battlecry.

 

The first jiralhanae swung a large, vicious bladed weapon at him. The swordsman easily dodged. His riposte neatly cleaved the jiralhanae's weapon in twain. He followed this move by slashing his foe's leg, forcing him to his knee.

 

One of the other brutes attempted to charge the swordsman. The experienced sangheili vaulted over his just-injured foe.

 

The charging jiralhanae was taken completely by surprise. He impacted his packmate, knocking them both to the ground. The swordsman neatly cut the head off one before piercing the skull of the other.

 

Another roar sounded behind him.

 

The swordsman instantly pivoted, swinging his blade in a wide arc. The final jiralhanae, who had been attempting to attack from behind, received a devastating slash across the chest. The beast howled in pain before rallying and pressing the attack.

 

The jiralhanae's blows were large and strong. Any one of them would have depleted the swordsman's shield and sent him flying across the room. A single landed hit could spell the end for the aged warrior.

 

None of the strikes had any hope of landing.

 

The swordsman dodged, ducked, and weaved with a dancer's grace. He slashed and stabbed, never taking too long for fear of being caught by a riposte, covering his foe in smoldering cuts and punctures. Eventually, the jiralhanae slowed, the cumulative injuries finally catching up to him.

 

The swordsman landed a slash across his foe's belly. White intestines spilled onto the floor, a horrid stench filling the room. The beast grabbed at its guts before collapsing to the ground. It breathed a few shuddering breaths before going still.

 

Mahkee's father looked to her from the doorway where his maneuvers had landed him. He grinned slightly. The young female felt a surge of hope. Perhaps there would be some salvation, after all.

 

A towering shape appeared behind her papa. Mahkee cried out in warning. The swordsman reacted in an instant, attempting to leap out of the way of the coming blow.

 

It was in vain.

 

An enormous hammer, glowing blue from a built-in micro-gravity drive, struck her father in the side. The swordsman's energy shield instantly failed. His armor crumpled from the force of the blow. A dent so deep that it surely extended into his chest itself was formed as the sangheili warrior was flung across the room and into the wall. He fell to the ground in an unmoving heap.

 

The jiralhanae lumbered casually toward his fallen foe. It growled in satisfaction as it reached the ruined form of his defeated adversary. It raised its hammer high over its head, intending to smash its enemy into paste.

 

Mahkee leaped atop the jiralhanae's back. She reached around and stabbed her dagger into the monster's right eye. It roared in agony and dropped its terrible weapon. The instrument fell to the ground just beside her papa.

 

The blow Mahkee struck was devastating, but it was also clumsy and inexperienced. It destroyed the eye, but failed to penetrate any further. Her enemy reached over its head and took hold of the comparatively tiny sangheili female.

 

The world flew past as the jiralhanae used its kind's unmatched strength to lift Mahkee over its head and throw her across the room.

 

The sangheili female's impact with the far wall was gentler than the one her father had so recently suffered. Unfortunately, it still drove the wind from her lungs and threatened to crush her bones with its force. Her enemy stomped towards her, pulling the dagger out of its ruined eye as it went.

 

Despite her injuries, Mahkee was able to react swiftly. She lunged between the approaching behemoth's legs and crawled over to the fallen form of her papa. Her heart sank as she saw his broken body. She was alone.

 

The final jiralhanae interrupted any reflection she may have lost herself in. He grabbed her by one arm and spun her around, his left hand gripping her neck and soon being joined by the other. Mahkee found herself lifted off of her feet. The beast snarled in satisfaction as it began to squeeze the small female's throat.

 

The pressure was immense. There was no way to break the enemy's iron-strong grip. Mahkee's legs kicked desperately, to no effect. She felt her face swelling. Her heartbeat pounded in her ear ridges. Her vision started to go black. The jiralhanae leaned in, grinning with enormous teeth as it watched the life begin to leave its prey's eyes.

 

Abruptly, the beast's remaining eye went wide. It pulled back and looked downward.

 

An energy sword protruded from its chest. Mahkee's hand still gripped it with white knuckles.

 

The jiralhanae dropped Mahkee and stumbled back. The sangheili female fell to the ground, losing her grip on her father's weapon, and desperately sucked in lungfuls of air. The stench of burning fur, hide, and flesh filled her nostrils.

 

The final enemy reached at the blade impaled in its chest. It seemed its strength was failing it, as it was unable to so much as grip the weapon, let alone pull it out. The beast stared at Mahkee in disbelief before falling backward.

 

The jiralhanae hit the ground with a deafening crash. It never moved again.

 

Resting on her knees, her body trembling in shock, Mahkee 'Chava observed her surroundings. Her papa and brother were dead. Her family was dead. She was alone. Even if she survived the next few hours and days, her entire life was now gone. _She_ would have to decide where she went from here.

 

It was a terrifying prospect. Mahkee had never had control of her life, her destiny, before. What would she do? Where would she go? What would her purpose be? Fear threatened to overwhelm her.

 

A fire rose in the sangheili's chest. No. She would not be beaten. She would not be cowed. Her family had not died in vain. She would live on. She would triumph. She would find a way to redeem her family name and honor those she had lost on this terrible day.

 

Her father's energy sword, named _Redemption's Edge_ by one of her ancestors _,_ still protruded from the jiralhanae's chest. Mahkee looked at her family's ancestral weapon. The blade had been passed down, from father to son, for hundreds of years. Now, there were no more sons.

 

There was only Mahkee.

 

The sangheili decided in that moment what she would do with her life, how she would pursue her purpose. She walked over to her fallen enemy and grabbed her birthright. The blade was stuck. Mahkee placed her hoof on the beast's motionless chest, gripped the blade with both hands, and pulled.

 

The sword came loose. Mahkee was born anew.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The casing made a satisfying 'click' as it snapped back into place. Mahkee removed the blindfold and examined her work. She had fully disassembled and reassembled her plasma pistol. She brought it over to the range and depressed the firing stud. It worked flawlessly.

 

With a bit more practice, she knew she would top the legion record. She was only a few seconds off as it was. The sangheili warrior smiled. She had come a long way since she first picked up her family's sword in the Great Schism.

 

Her mandibles clung to her face as she remembered those dark days. The san 'shyuum and the sangheili had founded the Covenant together, but the prophet race had long chafed at sharing power with the warrior species. Apparently, they decided in the end that they could replace the sangheili with the savage jiralhanae. Those brutes would follow orders without the questions and give-and-take that the prophets had endured with their original guardians. Thus, they had ordered their thralls to massacre the sangheili in an unparalleled act of betrayal. Millions had died as the Covenant tore itself apart.

 

The funeral pyres had been endless. Mahkee, being the lone surviving member of her clan with no remaining assets other than her body and her sword, had had to settle for one of the mass ceremonies. Mahkee wondered if the humans had conducted similar rituals.

 

Whatever sympathetic thoughts were forming in the sangheili were interrupted as she noticed the female human, 'Vale', approaching her once again. Mahkee suppressed a sigh. Not this, again.

 

The human stood straight at a respectful distance and saluted, a gesture that Mahkee returned, albeit with some reluctance. “Greetings, Warrior Mahkee,” she said in the expected greeting. “Would you like to spar with me?”

 

Mahkee blinked. This was not expected.

 

The sangheili warrior took stock of the Spartan once again. She was without her armor today, likely passing the time while it was being serviced. She certainly appeared capable; the reports of the raid on the slaver fortress spoke well of her abilities.

 

Mahkee had grown up hearing stories about the human 'demons'. They were always a bit contradictory as they attempted to characterize the Spartans as an unholy menace, and yet still substantially inferior to the awesome might of the sangheili warrior tradition. She had to admit that she had always been curious to see how a Spartan would fight in a melee.

 

Besides, Mahkee had not had a good spar in some time. There were few female warriors in her legion and most of the males were hesitant to fight a female, even in a spar. Some refused because they looked down on her. They tended to remain belligerent even if she wore them down into accepting and inevitably drove them into the mat. Others held back out of some outdated sense of chivalry; she always got the impression that they let her win. It was possible that this 'Vale' might give her a genuine challenge.

 

“That would be...acceptable,” Mahkee agreed. The human smiled in the strange manner of her kind and motioned for Mahkee to lead the way.

 

The pair made their way toward one of the training centers. They both stripped down to their undergarments; if they weren't wearing armor, they might as well relieve themselves of encumbrances. Mahkee noted with curiosity that the human kept a small piece of clothing on her upper torso in addition to the one around her waist. It must have been to keep those absurd mammary glands under control. The sangheili shook her head; how did human females put up with those things?

 

The sangheili and the human entered a vacant sparring ring and ignited their practice energy swords. The training tools contained slightly heated air as opposed to plasma; they wouldn't kill you, but they would leave a nasty burn as a rebuke for failure. The 2 warriors raised their swords diagonally in front of their chests in a salute. They waited 3 seconds.

 

The match began. Mahkee launched the attack.

 

Immediately, the sangheili warrior realized that she had been correct in her assessment of her opponent. The Spartan was extraordinarily fast. Each attempt Mahkee made to land a blow connected with open air or a deft parry. It seemed the human shared her favor of speed and agility over brute strength.

 

The warriors began an intricate dance. Mahkee moved to land a blow, Vale dodged. Vale attempted a strike, Mahkee parried. Neither remained stationary for even a second. Their battle took them across every square centimeter of mat. Each party made full use of their agility and speed to stay ahead of their foe.

 

The world around them faded away. There was nothing but their opponent. Nothing but the dance.

 

The tempo began slowly.

 

Move.

 

Counter-move.

 

Step.

 

Lunge.

 

As time went on, the warriors began increasing their pace. They struck and dodged with greater and greater bursts of speed. The air whistled as their limbs moved past with the velocity of a serpent's strike.

 

Strike—Dodge

 

Counter—Grapple

 

Lunge—Pivot

 

Soon, both warriors were moving faster than even their own eyes could see. They were operating on instinct and countless hours of ingrained training. Weeks, months, and years of relentless self-challenge showed their fruits as both warriors refused to go down. Refused to be the first to bleed.

 

There was no way of knowing how long the fight went on for. All thoughts beyond the dance had bled away. Even their sense of self had faded into the background as their minds focused on their next move. And the one after that. And the one after that.

 

The only thing the fighters knew was that, suddenly, it was over.

 

Mahkee held her blade a scant centimeter from her opponent's neck. Any closer and she would smell the acrid scent of burning skin.

 

Unfortunately, Vale was also holding her own blade a centimeter from Mahkee's neck.

 

The spar was a draw.

 

Before Mahkee could even process this turn of events, a male voice expressed its displeasure. She turned toward the edge of the ring.

 

They were surrounded by a crowd of sangheili warriors. Many of them had clearly been betting on the outcome and were no doubt unhappy with the way the spar had concluded. Others had a very annoying type of grin on their faces that indicated just how much they had enjoyed their little 'show'.

 

Vale raised her right hand and extended a thumb and 2 primary digits held together in a passable approximation of a sangheili offensive gesture.

 

Many of the spectators burst out laughing at the display of defiance and dismissal. Others looked like they wished to respond to the insult but held themselves in check. Doubtless, they had strict orders not to offend the Arbiter's 'guests'.

 

The pair made their way out of the ring and toward their folded possessions. Mahkee used her towel to wipe the copious amounts of sweat from her long neck. Her chest expanded and contracted in a deep rhythm as she greedily sucked in air. That really had been a good spar, she admitted grudgingly to herself.

 

“Want one?” Mahkee turned and saw the human in question offering her a small container of water. The sangheili spread her mandibles in a smile.

 

“My thanks,” she said, accepting the apology. Perhaps this human wasn't so bad, after all.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

A bare ceiling greeted Locke as he jerked awake. He sat up in bed and surveyed his surroundings. Burgundy walls. Medical equipment. Organic-shaped furniture.

 

The sangheili clinic. Right. That's where he was.

 

He tried to blink away the images from his recurring nightmare. Images of burnt streets and broken bodies. Of a scorched planet, pushed back over the brink into oblivion...

 

“Bad dreams?” Buck asked. Locke turned and saw his subordinate, once again sitting in the curved seat next to Locke's bed.

 

“Yeah, I dreamed I woke up with your ugly ass next to me,” Locke quipped. He'd be damned if he admitted what was really bother him to _anyone,_ let alone the former ODST. Buck chuckled.

 

“Did you bring the datacube from my armor's internal storage?” Locke asked, changing the subject.

 

“Yep. Right here,” Buck replied, handing Locke said datacube and the ONI Agent's personal compad. “Damn thing's restricted, so we don't know what happened yet. You got the password?”

 

Naturally, Locke did have the password. However, he wasn't about to let his subordinates see what was on the cube. He needed a way to get rid of Buck for a while.

 

The Spartan IV looked to the side for a moment, apparently examining something on the interior of his visor. He turned back to Locke after a few moments.

 

“Seems Vale challenged our pilot to a spar,” he explained. “It's gathering a bit of attention from the base staff.”

 

Perfect. “Take Tanaka and check it out,” Locke ordered. “Make sure nothing goes wrong. With the blood pumping and sangheili ego on the line, things could go bad. Fast.”

 

Buck hesitated a moment, but nodded. “On it, sir,” he said, moving out.

 

Once he was gone, Locke grabbed the compad and datacube. It took only a moment to access the data. There was a complete record of what had happened when the Master Chief tried to assassinate him.

 

Locke entered a few discrete commands. Several minutes passed. A box appeared on the compad's screen indicating that Locke's program had finished its work. The ONI Agent rebooted the compad and attempted to access the records from his armor's storage.

 

Error: Data Corrupted.

 

Excellent. Locke grinned internally as he removed the datacube from the side of the compad. He would add a bit of physical damage to the thing later to sell the story that the data had been lost due to the beam rifle round that penetrated his armor. No one but him would know what had happened.

 

Not even his superiors.

 

This was a dangerous game he was playing. If he kept pulling stuff like this his bosses at ONI Command would start to grow suspicious. Locke was a high level asset, but while that offered some protection, it also made him more of a threat if he became a liability. If his file was switched from the Credit to the Debit column in ONI's metaphorical spreadsheets, he would never see his end coming.

 

Locke pushed these thoughts out of his mind. If news of his near-death reached Command it could jeopardize his true objective. They might take him off the assignment or send backup that could get in his way. He needed answers. Answers about what had _really_ caused the destruction of Meridian. There was only one man in the galaxy that could give them to him and Locke wouldn't let anything stand between him and his private interrogation.

 

Locke set his compad down and leaned his head back. The bare, burgundy walls of the sangheili infirmary stared back at him. He had another day left before he was combat ready. Another day before he could leave this room.

 

There was nothing to do. He'd already examined all of the files available to him. He'd kept up with what news of the offensive that the Arbiter allowed him access to. Buck was gone, which had enabled him to do his work, but that meant that he had no one to talk to. He was alone.

 

Alone with his thoughts.

 

Locke didn't want to try to sleep. He wasn't tired, and closing his eyes only resulted in those images appearing on the inside of his eyelids.

 

Damn it, there had to be something to do!

 

A short while later, the curtain separating Locke's little corner from the rest of the infirmary parted. A sangheili healer, the one responsible for his direct treatment, entered. He closed the curtain behind him. Locke watched as the healer examined the readouts on the medical equipment beside his bed. He seemed to cross check them with something on his own organic-looking compad, nodded approvingly, and moved to leave. Apparently, sangheili healers had yet to develop bedside manner.

 

“So, how's it look, doc?” Locke asked. He wasn't really interested, but a conversation with the alien would be better than nothing.

 

The sangheili paused and looked at the human with surprise. It seemed he hadn't been expecting that. He rallied after a moment and moved back to Locke's bedside.

 

“Your condition has continued to improve at the expected rate,” the healer explained. “You will be released tomorrow, on schedule.”

 

There was an awkward pause. It seemed the healer was unsure exactly what his patient wanted. Locke could hardly blame him; he wasn't sure what he wanted, himself.

 

“Can I ask why your equipment looks like it's based on human designs?” Locke asked, finally.

 

The medical equipment all looked like blatant rip-offs of human devices. Really, Locke was not too surprised by this. The sangheili had always reverse-engineered their technology from the achievements of other races. In the days of the Covenant they had copied the Forerunners. It was not too big of a stretch to copy a more contemporary advanced race.

 

Privately, this was encouraging to Locke. It demonstrated the clear superiority of the human species over alien life. They would need that edge if they were going to spread their influence across the stars. It was in the nature of sapient beings to compete for dominance, and Locke believed that humanity would one day spread its domain over the entire galaxy. The human empire would rule all. Sangheili space included.

 

“I believe you just did ask,” the healer replied with a snort. He hesitated a moment and checked a device mounted on his wrist. “However, I suppose I have time to indulge your curiosity,” he said, pulling up a seat.

 

The sangheili healer paused again, apparently collecting his thoughts. “Tell me,” he began, “what do you know of how my profession was viewed in the days of the Covenant?”

 

Locke searched his memory, going over the reports on Covenant culture that he and other ONI Agents had compiled during the Human-Covenant War. “If I recall correctly, receiving medical treatment was considered a sign of weakness,” he answered.

 

The healer snorted. “An understatement, to be sure,” he said. “The blood of a sangheili was considered sacred. To touch the blood of another was an experience that was to be reserved exclusively for the battlefield. To do so outside of shedding it in an act of violence was taboo, even in the treating of wounds. To receive the aid of a healer in surgery or the like would bring shame upon both the healer and the patient. Thus, medical science for sangheili has been largely stagnant, if not regressive, for centuries.” He shook his head and clicked his lower mandibles. “Thankfully, the Arbiter has repealed that ridiculous institution.”

 

Locke nodded. This lined up with his understanding of sangheili culture. The idiotic perspective further solidified his view of the sangheili being intellectually inferior to homo sapiens. His own kind would never be so stupid.

 

“You think us mad or idiots to have ever held such a custom, don't you?” the healer asked, looking at Locke with suspicion.

 

Telling the whole truth was, of course, not an option here. Whatever he said would almost certainly make its way to the Arbiter. The last thing he needed was to make the sangheili leader even more annoyed with him. “I wouldn't go that far,” he answered, carefully.

 

“I would,” the healer replied, surprising him. “Our records of the pre-Covenant period are incomplete, but our greatest scholars believe that the taboo is far more recent than our prior leadership would have had us believe. You are aware of the Great Schism, of how the san 'shyuum tried to have the sangheili race exterminated to solidify their control over the Covenant?” he asked. Locke nodded in the affirmative. The healer explained, “we now believe that they were working to weaken my kind long before they attempted their killing stroke. The taboo against healing was engineered by the prophets in order to weaken the sangheili people, in both numbers and well-being. The Great War itself was partially designed for that purpose, as well. The Great Schism was but the culmination of millenia of cultural warfare that my forebears were completely blind to. It is our good fortune that the Arbiter is doing away with their machinations,” he said, holding his head a bit higher.

 

“So you're a patriot, then?” Locke asked. He figured allowing the sangheili to stroke his own ego a bit would help ingratiate himself to the alien.

 

There was another pause. The healer shook his head, chuckling. “Partially,” he answered. “Although I would be telling a falsehood if I claimed that as my only reason.” He tilted his head back on his serpentine neck, staring at the ceiling in apparent self-reflection. “I always chafed at the taboo against treating injuries. I thought it was foolish. When I became one of the few healers in the time of the Covenant, operating often in secrecy, I did so in the belief that shame was an acceptable price for compassion. There were...incidents that earned me severe recrimination. Of course, I was always a lousy warrior, so that made the choice a bit easier.” He chuckled again. Locke thought he could detect of bit of self-deprecation in his tone. “I must confess that, before the Arbiter, I had little hope of ever rising in station. Truthfully, my current profession is likely as much a matter of personal vindication as it is helping my fellow sangheili.”

 

This was getting weird. Everything the healer said was making sense to Locke, but he couldn't understand why the alien was so open with him. “This is fascinating, truly,” he said in as genuine a tone as he could manage, “but if I may be blunt, why are you being so open about yourself?” he asked.

 

“Because it is the truth,” the healer answered, turning his gaze from the ceiling and back to his patient. “Ever since the lies of the san 'shyuum were exposed, my people have placed an extreme value upon honesty and openness about one's self. It is a rather refreshing development, although I don't believe it was present in pre-Covenant society...I think that, even with all of what the Arbiter is reclaiming from our past, the society that he is building will not be the old Sanghelios.” The healer leaned back, once again growing reflective. “I think, perhaps, that is for the best. We must never again be in a place where the lies of those in power are able to so dominate our future.”

 

The conversation petered out after that. The healer took his leave, off to treat his own people. Locke remained. He stared at the wall, mentally reviewing the conversation, trying to figure out what about it was making him so on edge.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Fred was getting tired of fending off aggressive tentacles.

 

The huragok, Reaches-Far-Quickly, was once again attempting to 'help' Fred examine the Forerunner equipment Blue Team had found on Meridian. The Spartan had been attempting to access one of the more promising pieces for several weeks.

 

He had made little progress.

 

Admittedly, an outside perspective could be useful. Someone with fresh eyes might see something he missed. That said, he still wasn't willing to let an alien handle this equipment. Fred reached into one of his equipment pouches with his left hand as his right continued to fend off the huragok's inquisitive appendages.

 

The crystalline device glittered in the sunlight as Fred brought it into view. Immediately, the hovering alien lost interest in Fred's work and snatched its favorite toy out of his hand. It floated off, twittering in what Fred interpreted as childlike enthusiasm.

 

This was getting tiresome. The huragok was not the only member of the academic expedition that was having difficulty keeping their distance. The Spartans had established early on that they wanted a clear segregation between their matters and those of the aliens. Objectives, equipment, sleeping arrangements, etc. All separate.

 

It was a rather accurate microcosm of the Spartans' view on inter-species relations, honestly: humans had their space, the aliens had theirs. No crossover.

 

Unfortunately, the sangheili just couldn't seem to get the message. Their society was heavily communal. Everyone knew each other and knew each other's business. There was little in the way of privacy or secrets. This had led to repeated attempts to engage the Spartans in conversation and the sharing of goods. It was starting to get to Fred.

 

At least he was handling it better than Kelly. She had nearly started a few fights when the academics continued to pester her for social interaction. They'd learned pretty quickly to avoid that particular human.

 

Fred sighed. He might have to get Blue Lead to talk to 'Khebrem again. Fred paused, remembering recent events. He looked up and toward the edge of the camp.

 

The Master Chief was standing there, seemingly staring into the distance. Blue Team's leader had seemed distracted ever since he came back from the botched mission. He refused to talk about what had happened. Linda, likewise, was keeping quiet, saying that any answers would have to come from their leader.

 

Fred hoped that his brother pulled himself together. He wanted to do something, but he had no idea what he could do. Maybe he should send Kelly over. He shook his head. The Chief was never one to respond well to intrusion, regardless of the social skills of the intruder. He'd have to work through this on his own.

 

Hopefully, that would happen soon. Blue Team needed its leader mission ready.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Master Chief was staring at nothing.

 

Things had gone so wrong. Why had he ever thought that trying to assassinate Fireteam Osiris was a good idea? Linda was right: the risks were too high and the rewards were too low.

 

Now they had potentially ruined their relationship with the Arbiter and his forces. Would Locke tell the sangheili about what had happened? The Chief couldn't imagine that he wouldn't. The only way the Arbiter wouldn't find out was if the ONI Agent died from the beam rifle round. If the Arbiter found out, the very least he would demand would be answers.

 

The Chief decided that, if that happened, he would tell the Arbiter the truth. Everything. Full disclosure. The modern sangheili valued truth and despised lies more than anything. If they tried to present a fiction and the Arbiter sniffed it out, any hopes for completing the mission would be well and truly scuttled. Besides, being as obsessed with honor as he was, the sangheili head of state might actually prove sympathetic to John's motivations.

 

His motivations...

 

There was no denying it anymore: he had tried to kill Locke for revenge. It had taken many hours of reflection, but he had finally recognized that truth. He had allowed his own emotions to get the better of him and had jeopardized not just his mission, but the billions of lives that could be lost if they failed. It was one of the most serious betrayals of his duty, his purpose, that he could have possibly committed. A court marshal would not be out of the question once all of this was said and done.

 

The Chief began to pace restlessly. This had _never_ happened before. He had never failed so utterly. The rest of his squad was almost certainly starting to question his judgment, and they were right to do so. He was starting to question it himself. The Master Chief forced himself to stop pacing and squared his shoulders.

 

The mission. He had to focus all of his efforts, all of his being, into completing the mission. He had to stop the Guardians and, more importantly, find Cortana. He needed his friend's wisdom. Her perspective.

 

John needed someone to tell him what to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Mods came out for Fallout 4 on the Xbox One, so I've had trouble coming up for air to do any writing. I haven't even gotten to the dlc for Witcher 3 yet.
> 
> Note: I find myself giving more and more screentime to Mahkee as time goes on. Originally, she wasn't even a viewpoint character. I'm a bit worried that she's taking attention away from the main characters and mucking up the pacing. What do you guys think?
> 
> Note: So, another action scene, kinda. Feedback?
> 
> Note: The part about the taboo against healers being cultural warfare was something I came up with. I always thought that part of sangheili culture was kind of dumb, so I figured I'd incorporate my own personal explanation for it here. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	33. Ch 32 Growing Knowledge and The Food Raid

Chapter 32: Growing Knowledge and The Food Raid

 

Sounds of battle echoed over the plains. Flashes decorated the horizon as, invisible to the Spartan IIs, the forces of the Arbiter clashed with the religious fanatics following Jul 'Mdama. The Swords of Sanghelios were moving closer to the seaport from which they would launch the invasion of Sunaion.

 

_Good,_ Kelly thought. This whole setup was really starting to become irritating.

 

“Keep your mind in the present, Spartan,” 'Khebrem admonished her. The veteran of the Human-Covenant War had to restrain herself from responding violently at being scolded by a sangheili. This was neither the time nor the place for such an emotional outburst.

 

Besides, she was the one who had volunteered to assist 'Khebrem in medical duties.

 

The ranking academic was, in addition to a historian, a prominent doctor, occupying a high position in the 'Guild of Healers'. He had insisted that his position was mostly political, his time too occupied with cultural and historical matters to contribute much to the advancement of medical science, but nevertheless his expertise made him the best qualified to serve as the expedition's medic.

 

That, and he seemed to think he was the only one capable of performing the task properly. Kelly remembered 'Khebrem scolding his subordinates about the composure of a lab area. Something about the place not being organized correctly, or the other academics not doing things in the same procedure that he favored. He had been most insistent that they do things his way.

 

Thus, when one of the guards had been injured by a falling bit of rubble, it was 'Khebrem that treated the injury. With Kelly assisting. The academic donned sterile gloves and began cleaning the leg wound. The injured warrior grumbled unhappily. For a sangheili, the sound was similar to the warning growl of an apex predator. 'Khebrem seemed to agree.

 

“You dislike when I touch your blood, correct?” he asked his patient.

 

The response was curt. “Yes, in fact,” the injured warrior bit out.

 

“Well, why did you not say so earlier?” 'Khebrem asked in false relief. “If that is the case, we will simply leave your injured leg as it is. If you are fortunate, everything will heal well and you will be able to participate in combat again within a few weeks. If you are unfortunate, the wound will become infected, you will take ill, and die. Forerunners smile on you, friend.” The academic moved to leave.

 

“Wait!” the warrior said hurriedly. He set his features, his mandibles clinging tightly to his face. “I am...willing to ignore my...emotional response. Please, Healer, continue your work.”

 

'Khebrem spread his upper mandibles in a grin, his point having been made. He sat back down in front of his patient and spent several minutes cleaning and tending the wound.

 

“Healing foam, if you would,” 'Khebrem ordered. Kelly reached into the supply bag and handed him the requested piece of equipment. The sangheili injected the wounded warrior's leg with a small bit of the foam. From what she could tell, it was a blatant copy of humanity's own biofoam. She supposed it made sense to adapt existing technology rather than starting from scratch, but it still annoyed Kelly that the aliens had effectively stolen one of their ideas.

 

The treatment for the wound was finished rather quickly. Kelly then assisted 'Khebrem in gathering and storing the medical supplies. It had certainly been interesting, studying at the feet of one of the sangheili's first true medical professionals.

 

Originally, Kelly had asked for the tutelage so she would better understand how to kill sangheili in the future. She knew about as much as any human alive but utilizing a new source, particularly one with such direct connection to the subject, could always provide new information. A Spartan never passed up an advantage.

 

Surprisingly, 'Khebrem had agreed right away to allowing Kelly to learn about the nascent field of sangheili medicine. He had said something about education and communication being the keys to peace. Or something.

 

Kelly had little patience for that kind of wishful thinking.

 

Regardless of the sangheili's motivations, Kelly had learned much, both from 'Khebrem himself and from the medical texts he allowed her to study. Nearly all of them had been written within the past few years. Some of them even featured passages written by 'Khebrem himself.

 

The sangheili academic bothered her. She thought about him as she walked back to Blue Team's area of the camp. Something about him continued to nag at her. Kelly sat down and thought about a recent event that stuck out in her mind.

 

A student had been approaching 'Khebrem. The junior academic was carrying some sort of artifact recovered in the course of the expedition. The student spoke for a bit. After hearing him out, 'Khebrem shook his head. He snatched the artifact out of the student's hands and pointed to several points on its surface. Apparently having been proved wrong about something, the student hung his head in shame. 'Khebrem placed the artifact back in the student's hands and motioned him away.

 

The chastised pupil walked away, eventually sitting down on a bench. He studied the artifact for a bit, with little enthusiasm, before placing it on a basic desk in front of him. He slouched in his seat, discouraged. He only perked up when he noticed 'Khebrem sitting down next to him.

 

The lead scholar had talked to his student for a bit, his arm around the younger sangheili's shoulder. After several minutes of conversation 'Khebrem got up, placed the artifact back in the student's hands, and left. The student himself resumed his studies, his morale apparently restored.

 

The picture of Cham 'Khebrem was a paradox. He seemed to be a man (well, _alien_ ) of peace. He was an academic, a teacher, one who expected much of his students and pushed them to their limits. Yet, he also clearly cared for them. He knew all of them by name, seemed to know a fair bit about each of their personal histories, and seemed to place a high priority on their well-being. Nothing about him should have been threatening or intimidating.

 

Yet, Kelly felt increasingly uncomfortable around him.

 

Something about him seemed almost...familiar. Kelly thought back to the student he had scolded. She had experienced similar scoldings, she mused.

 

A wave of nausea crashed over Kelly as she realized she had just experienced a moment of kinship with a _sangheili_.

 

Hopefully, the final attack on Sunaion would happen soon. This mission was really starting to get to her.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Food.

 

Since the beginning of siege warfare, food had been a central component of any battle plan. Contrary to whatever fantasies green recruits may bring into their first assignment, fortified population centers were rarely ever taken by direct force. Assaults were costly and risky. The much safer, and therefore generally the more sane, approach was to alter the situation so that the defenders decided to surrender without their walls ever having been breached.

 

The basic strategy, from ancient Roman cities to the asteroid bases of the Insurrection, was to surround the enemy and wait for their supplies to run out. Fortified positions were rarely self-sufficient. An armed force completely cutting them off from the outside world meant they would start running short. In space, the first resource to dwindle was typically breathable air. Within a biosphere, it was food.

 

The floating city of Sunaion was no different.

 

The 'city' was a Forerunner installation composed of hundreds of kilometer-tall spires of alien metal. There were rings around the circumference of nearly all of the spires, about a meter thick and varied in width, which were the platforms upon which the Storm had set up shop. The rings were set at various elevations, producing 'levels' or 'floors'. There was a network of hard-light bridges that connected many of the spires.

 

There was, however, no space for agricultural equipment. Meaning the 'city' was entirely dependent upon shipments of rations to keep its personnel operational.

 

“Certainly, simply waiting for hunger to drive them to surrender is unacceptable,” the Arbiter explained. His hologram gestured to the map of Sunaion that was also being projected by the comm terminal in the Lich's communication room. “Every moment that 'Mdama is in that city brings him closer to unleashing doom upon us all. Be that as it may, facing defenders wracked by hunger will be far easier than if they were fully nourished.”

 

“Agreed,” the Master Chief replied. Lack of provisions would damage both physical fighting ability and overall morale of Sunaion's defenders. “I assume my team and I will be intercepting shipments?”

 

“There is no need,” the Arbiter replied, his upper mandibles spreading in a grin. “We now have the ability to eliminate the source. Observe.”

 

The map representing Sunaion was replaced by recon footage of what looked like some kind of farming complex. There were tens of orderly fields full of what looked like alien produce as well as dozens of smaller greenhouses. The fields took up the majority of the perimeter, the exception being the onloading/offloading area for shipments, with the greenhouses taking up a large portion of the interior. Other structures housed the personnel, equipment, and a small number of troops to serve as security. Still others were guard posts, fences, and other security measures.

 

“This,” the sangheili monarch explained, “is the keep of Kaidon Van 'Zama. Scholar 'Khebrem will explain more.”

 

At this the academic, who had previously been standing in the back of the comm room, moved forward to stand in front of the display. “Kaidon 'Zama” he began, “has converted the entirety of his personal estate into an agricultural center unrivaled upon all of Sanghelios. As I have previously explained, the art of growing crops within the soil of our homeworld was lost many centuries ago. Whatever had been used prior to the establishment of the Covenant has either died out or been carefully scrubbed from our histories by the san 'shyuum.”

 

“Indeed,” the Arbiter interjected solemnly. “It has been one of the most stubborn and persistent obstacles to our goal of an independent Sanghelios.”

 

“You are correct, of course, my liege,” 'Khebrem replied. The Chief was no expert, but he thought he could detect a bit of annoyance from the academic. Apparently, he didn't like being interrupted.

 

John frowned beneath his helmet.

 

“It seems that 'Zama,” 'Khebrem continued, “has overcome this hurdle. His farms routinely harvest yields easily triple that of any of our efforts. From what we have been able to gather, he has bred new strains of several promising species.”

 

Something stood out to the Chief. “You say 'he' has accomplished this. Do you mean a scientific staff?”

 

“In truth, no, I do not,” 'Khebrem replied. His mandibles went slack and his shoulders sagged for a moment. “Van 'Zama is perhaps the most brilliant mind of his generation. The Guild of Historians coordinated with him for a time. Until the rise of the Storm Covenant, that is...” The academic paused for a moment.

 

“We all mourn the fall of a promising Scholar,” the Arbiter said, coming to his rescue. “We must remember, however, that he chose his current path. Spartan,” he said, turning his attention to the Chief. “The 'Zama keep is the primary source of food for Sunaion. You are to capture it, as well as secure any data and samples you find therein.”

 

The Chief bristled internally at being ordered around by the sangheili, but he restrained himself. He had asked much of his host. Refusing to help in the final stages of the campaign would simply be unacceptable.

 

“I cannot overstate the importance of acquiring what 'Zama has discovered,” the Arbiter continued. “Without doubt you have learned from your travels with Scholar 'Khebrem of the factionalism that has plagued sangheili society for millenia. It infests every aspect of our civilization.” The Arbiter's mandibles contracted in what the Chief recognized as a scowl. “I plan to do away with such nonsense. Part of this plan involves agricultural production. Prior to the Covenant, each keep was reliant upon its ability to grow food within its own borders, forcing those with less fertile soil to dedicate resources to food production that could be better used elsewhere. Many colonies, and the territories within colonies, have operated with similar restrictions. I will not tolerate this foolishness any longer. The Swords of Sanghelios will adopt a policy of shared agriculture, starting here on Sanghelios and eventually encompassing all sangheili space. We will have dedicated, prosperous breadbaskets that will be open to all within our society. It is my hope that this policy will help bind our people together further.”

 

_That, and it'll make everyone more reliant on your centralized government,_ the Chief thought.

 

The Master Chief may not have been the most politically savvy soldier, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew that there had been multiple attempts upon the Arbiter's life in the previous years. He also knew that the only reason his revolutionary programs were being accepted at all was the enormous amount of popular support the Arbiter himself had gained. There were many of the old-guard nobility that would gladly undo all of what the sangheili would-be emperor had accomplished if they were able to wriggle out from under his thumb.

 

The Chief shook his head. The mechanics of empire building were not something he had mastered. Nor did he wish to. He focused his mind back on his true field of expertise: Winning battles.

 

“The leader of Fireteam Osiris was recently injured, so for the moment there will be less worry about crossing their paths,” the Arbiter explained. “He will, however, be fully recovered within days.”

 

The Master Chief wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, a dangerous enemy was still an active threat. On the other hand, his survival meant that the Chief's...mistake...had not been as final as it might have been.

 

Most importantly, there had been no prompt for information, nor did the Arbiter act as if he suspected anything. It seemed that he might not know what the Chief had attempted to do. The Chief wondered why Locke would withhold that information. Maybe his injuries had rendered his memory of the event unclear?

 

It might have been a good idea to tell the Arbiter, anyway. CPO Mendez, the man who had trained the Spartan IIs, had always been more lenient with punishments when guilty parties had confessed than when he had to find out on his own. Still, as logical as it might have been, the Chief just couldn't bring himself to voluntarily give up information to a sangheili. He supposed decades of seeing them as the inhuman enemy of humankind made it a little hard to trust.

 

“A small force of Swords infantry will capture the facility. You are to infiltrate prior to the main attack and recover as much data as possible,” the Arbiter explained. “It is vital that you recover any and all data concerning 'Zama's success. Failing that, you must capture intact samples as all convoys we have intercepted have immediately incinerated their cargo, denying them to us. Kaidon 'Zama himself is not present, but do seek out any assistants that may be. Keep in your mind that this mission may prove vital to my vision.”

 

“It will also help relieve the food shortages,” 'Khebrem interjected. His mandibles were tight against his face. “Many suffer due to the loss of territory and resources during the Great Schism. 'Zama's achievements can keep many from succumbing to hunger in the years ahead.”

 

“Of course, of course,” the Arbiter assured him. “Do not worry, Healer, I have not forgotten the plight of the downtrodden. I spoke true when I said the bounty will be available to _all_ within our nation.” 'Khebrem nodded at this, seemingly pacified.

 

“We don't have a lot of time. let's focus on planning the operation,” the Master Chief said. Every wasted second was another moment for 'Mdama to reach his goal...and for the Chief to feel lost without Cortana's direction.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The agricultural complex was nearly engulfed in flames.

 

It turned out that all of the fields had been equipped with incendiary self-destruct devices. The Spartans had infiltrated the complex unnoticed, naturally, but it turned out the Storm had anticipated losing the complex and decided to burn it preemptively. Sheer luck was the only reason they arrived at the same time the scorched earth policy was being implemented.

 

All of the fields and greenhouses were burning, the research building was a smoldering ruin, and Blue Team was desperately defending a large shipping container filled with 'Zama's specially designed produce.

 

A seemingly endless number of sangheili and unggoy assaulted their position within a relatively small storage building. Apparently, they had strict orders to prevent any of their precious cargo from falling into enemy hands. The Spartans fired, targeting the silhouettes framed by the infernos raging all around them.

 

The air shimmered with the heat, making it more difficult to fire accurately. The Spartans' armor blared warnings about temperature levels. They started to taste the tang of recycled air, the local atmosphere having become too polluted with smoke to be breathable; they had 2 hours at most before their suits were no longer able to keep them alive.

 

The light of the blaze made a stark contrast to the pitch darkness of night just beyond the perimeter. It felt like fighting a battle in the middle of a campfire.

 

The sounds of larger battle echoed from the east. The small Swords force that had accompanied Blue Team on this mission were engaging the Storm. It would take time for any reinforcements to reach the Spartans. The Chief mentally berated his alien allies for not doing their jobs fast enough.

 

This was infuriating. He tried to hide it, but the Master Chief had always taken pride in his nearly flawless success record. To have a mission end in even partial failure was agonizing to him, even if it was due to extenuating circumstances. He didn't like to lose.

 

That, and the failures of Meridian were still a fresh wound.

 

The Master Chief focused on the task at hand. They still needed to salvage what they could of this abortive operation.

 

Beams of light lanced out from atop the building's roof. Each one impacted the visor of an approaching sangheili. Linda had acclimated well to her new weapon.

 

The Chief and Kelly lay prone upon the roof with her, facing opposite directions. They fired short, controlled bursts from their assault rifles. Their targets were the hostiles that Linda simply didn't have time to take down.

 

Fred was just outside the loading building itself, forming the last line of defense. The 'building' only had 3 walls, preventing them from securing the main approach. Fred dashed back and forth, using his energy blade to cut down any hostiles that made it too close. He couldn't risk any of his shots impacting the incendiary weapons the Storm warriors carried.

 

Explosions wracked the ground as some stored flammable materials succumbed to the intense heat. The spreading blaze cut off some of the lines of approach. Unfortunately, it seemed to make the Storm forces even more desperate, as they began pushing forward through the Spartans' defensive fire.

 

The Master Chief scrambled to come up with a solution. He scanned their surroundings, searching for something, anything, to give them an advantage.

 

A bit of reflected light from the fires caught the Chief's eye. The reflection was cast by a large pipe, most likely part of the irrigation system for the crops, that was suspended between Blue Team's position and the approaching hostiles. The Spartan used his helmet's zoom function to examine a readout next to the pipe's control surface: pressure was still on.

 

“Blue Two, target the piping,” the Chief ordered, sending Linda's armor a signal that would highlight the target on her own HUD. “Use a plasma grenade.”

 

“Copy,” Blue Two replied, laying her beam rifle on the roof surface next to her. She removed one of the explosive devices, courtesy of the Arbiter's Swords, from her belt. She crouched, pulled her arm back, and threw. The grenade arced over 30 meters to land directly on one of the release valves. Once again, her aim had been perfect.

 

The blue flash of the grenade's detonation was instantly overwhelmed by the torrential rush of released water. The Storm warriors in the direct path of the breach didn't even have time to react before they were hit with several tons of force from the pressurized water. Their broken bodies were washed away in seconds.

 

The assault wave stalled. Those who weren't directly hit were forced to go around, their steps bogged down by the wet ground. Blue Team dispatched the survivors with their typical efficiency.

 

“Blue Leader, this is low-officer 'Fulsa,” a voice announced over the comms, “we have vanquished the defenders and are on our way to your current position.”

 

“Copy, 'Fulsa,” the Chief replied. He was rather annoyed that the sangheili had only managed to break through _after_ Blue Team had eliminated the resistance, but it was still a relief to see the large hovercraft moving in to take possession of the shipping container. Swords warriors surrounded the vehicles, spreading out as much as they dared with the fires still raging. This would have to be done quickly if any of them were to make it out alive.

 

“Spartan!” a nearby zealot shouted over the roaring fire. He gestured at what appeared to be a small storage building. “We are detecting power signatures within that structure. Would you like to investigate?”

 

The Chief glanced around at the raging inferno. Fields full of melons, grains, and what appeared to be more alien vegetation were catching fire, the blaze spreading. They had minutes at best before the escape route was cut off and they would have to risk evac by dropship.

 

“Copy. We'll be back ASAP,” the Master Chief replied. He wanted this all done with, and like CPO Mendez always said: If you want something done right, do it yourself. “Blue Two, stay on overwatch,” he ordered. “Blue One and Three, on me.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The trio of Spartans moved toward the small, rectangular building, their guard still fully up. It wasn't in their nature to be careless. They took up positions on opposite sides of the doorway. The Chief snaked a fiberoptic probe through a seam.

 

The room was dark. Most of his vision was taken up by the enormous agricultural equipment, likely the sangheili equivalent of tractors and the like. The only exception was the far wall.

 

A small energy barrier was blocking off the back of the equipment shed's only room. Within it was a single figure: a sangheili.

 

The Master Chief frowned behind his visor. Was this a prisoner? If so, why keep them here instead of a more secure location? Were they captured just prior to the attack? The unknown didn't appear to be restrained in any way. In fact, they seemed to be dressed rather well, by sangheili standards. Maybe it was a VIP hiding from the battle?

 

Regardless, this bore investigating. The Chief motioned Blue One forward. Fred cracked the control panel open and had the door unlocked in seconds. The Chief motioned again. Blue Team breached the building.

 

The figure had been facing the wall before they entered. Now, hearing the doors open, they stood and watched the new arrivals. The Spartans moved forward cautiously, checking every corner, every possible avenue of attack. The building proved to be empty of other hostiles.

 

“I sent my guards away,” the figure explained. “I felt no need for them any longer.”

 

Puzzled, the Master Chief approached the energy barrier, his weapon at the ready. “Identify yourself,” he demanded. The sangheili's behavior indicated that he was a hiding VIP, but the Chief still wanted to know exactly who he was dealing with.

 

The sangheili within the makeshift panic room simply stared. “Spartans,” he said, calmly. “I have heard much of you over the years. Heard, but not seen...not until today.”

 

The Chief had little patience for games. He reexamined the energy barrier. The emitter was inside the protected area, so there was no use trying to disable it without heavy weapons or special equipment. He did notice, however, that the emitter seemed to be tied into the building's electrical grid. He opened a private comm. “Blue One, get that barrier deactivated. Try cutting its power,” he ordered. Fred sent an acknowledgment light to the Chief's HUD and got to work.

 

The captive sangheili continued to stare at the Spartans. The Chief stared right back. The human realized that the sangheili's dress bore a striking resemblance to the clothing the Arbiter wore when he first greeted the Chief to this planet, all those weeks ago. Realization struck him.

 

“You're Kaidon Van 'Zama,” the Spartan said, recognizing the sangheili from the briefing files.

 

The sangheili noble, for his part, seemed to ignore the Chief's words. He continued staring for a moment before speaking.

 

“I was not expecting humans,” 'Zama said, once again with an odd, resigned calm. He tilted his head as he continued. “It must seem like madness to an outsider. For my allies and me to follow the Old Ways even after being shown that they were lies. Deceptions intended to end in our destruction. You think us insane or simpletons, don't you?”

 

“Something like that,” the Chief answered, deadpan. If this sangheili was going to try to convince him of the righteousness of his cause or otherwise play for sympathy, well, so much the better. It would be good to stall the war criminal while Blue One worked on cutting the power to his little defense.

 

'Zama chuckled. “Perhaps it is both.” He tilted his head back, seeming to stare at the ceiling in reflection. “When I first heard of the beginning of the Great Schism, I refused to believe that the Prophets were behind it. I had to see the slaughter, the intercepted transmissions, the mountains of evidence before I would even consider it. It was funny, in a way...I had always been uncommonly curious. I would frequently be scolded for going too far or breaking some rule of propriety in my quests for answers, for truth. Yet, when confronted by a hard truth, I...could not bear to face it.”

 

The Chief checked on Blue One out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to be having some difficulty accessing the power grid, but progress was clearly being made. He focused his attention back upon his soon-to-be prisoner.

 

“I served the Arbiter for a time, but I grew increasingly discontented with the extent he wished to transform our society. I could not believe that the State, the Faith, that I and my ancestors had dedicated our lives to could be false. I lost people, you see, to the Prophet's wars. Cousins, brothers...my father. To abandon their cause wholly would have felt like a betrayal of their memories. Of their legacy,” 'Zama continued, seemingly speaking to the empty air. “When Jul 'Mdama approached me, telling me he would lead us back into the Old Ways, I nearly leaped in joy. At last, we would be in a righteous cause once more. At last, all would be right again.” 'Zama chuckled again. “The jubilation did not last. Desperate as I was, I could not suppress my curiosity. I came to realize that I, and 'Mdama, were but slaves to dead masters. Followers of a dogma that would only lead to the corruption and death of our people.”

 

The fallen Kaidon looked down, toward the wall, seeming to hide his face in shame. “Yet still I was a coward. Still I could not bear to face the truth. I hid myself in my labors, tried to pretend that all was well. I aided that lunatic, 'Mdama, and the barbarians he leads, and for WHAT?!” The Chief raised his assault rifle and eyed the exits. If this guy snapped, he could do something dangerous, like trigger explosives.

 

Instead, the sangheili continued talking. “All I have now is the certainty that I have helped kill and enslave my own kind! My own keep is burning to ash now to deny resources to a foe I never should have been fighting. I served the very sort of forces I should have been defending my people against, all because I was too frightened to face a new world!”

 

The energy seemed to drain out of the sangheili. For several seconds, he simply stared at the wall.

 

Then, he looked back at the Chief, weariness filling his eyes.

 

“You know, for most of my life I saw humans as vermin,” he said, once again in his calm tone. “I saw the recordings of humans fighting for their lives, even saw some of your clan, but I still believed the lies that humans were all cowardly, heretical vermin. Now, today, I saw you pursue your objective with determination even as the world caught fire around you. I was so blind—no, I was blindfolded, and I was the one to put it on. Only now, at the end, do I see...”

 

The energy barrier blinked out of existence. The Chief and the rest of the Spartans all trained their weapons on the sangheili. The alien showed no sign of fear. In fact, he seemed resigned. The Master Chief realized that the sangheili had been confessing, trying to find some manner peace before the end.

 

Tactically, the next move was obvious: capture 'Zama and transport him back to the Arbiter's forces. The sangheili scientist's knowledge could prove invaluable in building up the Swords of Sanghelios.

 

It would also help salve the Chief's pride over the partially-failed operation. This alone made the choice rather appealing to him.

 

Yet...

 

Was that really something that the Spartans wanted?

 

The sangheili had attempted to exterminate the human species, after all. If the Arbiter was fully successful in forging a new sangheili empire, wouldn't that be a threat to the Unified Earth Government and everyone in it? Eliminating 'Zama would hardly destroy the Arbiter's initiative, but it would certainly slow it. That might be enough...

 

The Master Chief hesitated. He wasn't sure what to do.

 

Abruptly, as it had so often in the recent months, memory overwhelmed him.

 

He remembered the food riots he had seen reports of during the Human-Covenant War. He remembered hearing about how bad things got when food was short. How much suffering and pain resulted in there simply not being enough for everyone to eat. How the UNSC struggled just to maintain order in the face of entire populations upset over empty stomachs. So much blood had been spilled over this.

 

Most importantly, though, John remembered Dr. Halsey. He remembered something she had tried to teach him ages ago, in some long-forgotten discussion in her office. Something about being _worthy_ of victory...

 

“Kaidon Van 'Zama, you are under arrest,” the Chief heard himself say. It was as if his body was on autopilot. 'Zama seemed as surprised as the Chief felt as the sangheili scientist allowed himself to be restrained and led outside to the Swords forces.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The tent was silent, save for the sounds of Fred running maintenance on the MJOLNIR armor. The Chief sat nearby, waiting for Blue Team's resident mechanic to finish the vital task of keeping their armor operational. He wouldn't be able to keep them combat ready indefinitely, not without special equipment and assistants, but it should be enough for a while longer.

 

The end of the mission kept playing over and over in the Chief's mind. He couldn't figure out why he had done it. Spared the sangheili scientist. There were any number of perfectly logical explanations, most of them centered on keeping the Arbiter on friendly terms, but none of them felt like the real reason.

 

Frankly, this whole mission was driving him nuts.

 

Kelly sat down next to him. The Chief kept himself from jumping in surprise. He must have been really lost in thought to not notice her approach. Then again, maybe he had noticed and subconsciously ignored it. He had nothing to fear from his sister, after all.

 

The silence stretched on as the Chief waited for Kelly to say something.

 

She didn't.

 

Kelly didn't say anything, didn't even look directly at him. She simply sat down, and waited. Waited for him to make the first move.

 

It took several minutes for John to finally open up. It was difficult. This sort of thing didn't come naturally to him.

 

“You're wondering why I didn't eliminate Van 'Zama,” he said. Might as well get right to the point.

 

“If that's what's bothering you,” she replied. John bit back his annoyance. Why did she insist on talking like that?

 

“It's...part of it,” he admitted. “This mission has been wearing on me. I—” the Chief hesitated. John forced himself to keep going. “I failed, Kelly. When I tried to eliminate Locke. I let my emotions take control, take my attention away from the mission. I wanted revenge. For what he did. For what I've—we've—lost. I nearly got Linda and myself killed, not to mention the long-term consequences if the Arbiter learned what I'd done.”

 

What came next was the hardest thing the Master Chief had ever done. Battling the Covenant hordes, vanquishing runaway remnants of the Forerunner Empire, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat time and time again for the better part of half a century...None of it compared to forcing himself to say what he said next.

 

“I...I feel like I'm coming apart. Like maybe I'm not fit to lead.”

 

The Chief held his breath, waiting for his teammate to respond. What would she say? Would she agree with him? Would she suggest Fred take over as Blue Lead? He had certainly proved himself capable of the role in the Chief's absence.

 

Kelly hugged him.

 

Just...what? His arms remained resting on his knees as her arms encircled him.

 

“I trust you,” John's sister told him. “You made a mistake, but you know it. You admit it. I know you—you'll learn from this. Get better. After all,” he could _hear_ the smile in her voice as she finished, “you don't like to lose.”

 

Trembling, unsure what to say, the Chief allowed his arms to encircle his sister right back.

 

John allowed himself to cry for the first time in over 40 years.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Well, that's the story,” the Master Chief concluded.

 

Linda and Fred stared at the Chief, apparently processing the explanation he had just given for his actions against Fireteam Osiris. He had made no excuses. He simply explained how he had failed and hoped, prayed, that they would share Kelly's confidence.

 

“About damn time,” Linda said, nodding. The look on her face conveyed clear confidence. The Chief had regained her respect and trust as leader.

 

This surprised him. After Linda's, admittedly justified, dressing down of him post-mission, he had expected her to be the last to forgive him.

 

“I'm not happy about this, but I'm at least glad you owned up to it,” Fred added in turn. “Just...try not to do anything like that again, okay, sir?”

 

“Copy that, Fred,” the Chief replied. His eyes threatened to tear up again, but he managed to keep it controlled this time. One weeping session was enough for this decade.

 

With that, the impromptu meeting was adjourned. Linda went to clean and modify her beam rifle, Kelly went to go over some of the sangheili medical texts some more, and Fred pulled out one of the Forerunner relics recovered from Meridian.

 

The Chief paused. “Any progress on accessing the Forerunner devices?” he asked.

 

Fred sighed. “Not much, sir. I've made progress but, well...I wouldn't count on anything being usable before the end of the mission.”

 

A thought rose into the Master Chief's consciousness. A year ago he would have dismissed it out of hand. Now, for some reason, it just felt right. And the Chief had learned to trust his instincts.

 

“Let the huragok assist you,” he ordered.

 

Fred looked up, his posture conveying clear surprise. “Sir? Are you sure?” he asked.

 

“Yes, I'm sure,” the Chief replied, although he'd be hard pressed to explain why at the moment.

 

Fred sat up a bit straighter. The Chief wasn't an expert, but he thought he detected some relief in his brother's tone as he confirmed the order and went off to find the alien engineer. If the Spartan squadleader had to guess, he'd say that his subordinate was happy to have a confident leader once again.

 

Unnoticed by the man himself, a small smile appeared on the Chief's face, hidden by the polarized visor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I managed to get a full time job for the summer, so there's been less time to write. That, and I finally got around to playing the last Witcher 3 dlc. Seriously—Blood and Wine ROCKS. 
> 
> Note: I'm trying to develop 'Khebrem as a bit of a kindred spirit to Dr. Halsey. I figured this would be the best way to get the members of Blue Team, particularly Kelly, to develop a believable amount of new empathy for the Sangheili. I'm a bit worried that I laid it on a bit thick in this chapter, though. Thoughts?
> 
> Note: One of my favorite bits of Halo: First Strike was the part where everyone had to talk the Chief out of continuing his original mission to capture a Covenant Prophet. Bear in mind, this was after the events of Halo which physically and mentally exhausted everyone, the Chief was the only Spartan II still in operation, and his 'crew' consisted of 2 marines, a pilot, and an intelligence officer. All because John was committed to his mission and didn't like to lose. I really liked that as an example of how a crazy-awesome badass can sometimes go a bit too far in his crazy-awesomeness. 
> 
> Note: My mantra in writing this fic has, from the beginning, been 'Show, Don't Tell'. This is why I try to take every opportunity I can to showcase each character's distinguishing characteristics. In this chapter I have Fred once again acting as team mechanic, and I have Kelly acting as the resident Team Mom. 
> 
> Note: So, yeah, another scene of Spartans being all emotional and junk. A lot of writers are afraid to let their characters show emotion or vulnerability. This has the effect of rendering them inhuman or unsympathetic. I've tried to avoid that here, but it is possible to go too far in the opposite direction and make them neurotic wimps. How do you guys think I'm handling the balancing act?
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	34. Ch 33 Push to the Shore, part 1

Chapter 33: Push to the Shore, part 1.

 

The wind whistled by the open end of the cargo container. Silicate particles covered the floor. Locke left bootprints behind in the solid layer as he moved toward the entrance.

 

The container was filled with someone's personal effects. Disposable bags full of clothes, improvised furniture held together with tape, broken down shoes and sandals. Locke recognized the setup: this was a refugee's home. He had lived in such a place after his homeworld got glassed, before he was shipped off into the foster system.

 

A simple, tattered tarp served as the barrier between the improvised domicile and the outside world. Locke brushed it aside with one arm as he exited.

 

A charred and broken world greeted him. It took the supersoldier a moment to recognize Jericho VII. His homeworld. From the looks of things, the Covenant invasion had just rolled through here.

 

Locke pressed on. He was looking for something. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was important. Important enough to come back here.

 

Molten, gutted buildings surrounded him on all sides. Human bodies littered the streets, forcing Locke to step carefully. The bodies of soldiers, Marines, lay, often a few meters in front of the bodies of civilians. The Marines had clearly tried to protect the non-combatants.

 

None had succeeded. Jericho VII was populated only by corpses, now.

 

Locke pressed on.

 

There was a landing field up ahead. A ball of dark matter formed in the orphan's gut. He knew what had happened there. What had almost happened to him. What would he find if he returned there?

 

It didn't matter. Locke needed to find what he was looking for. He kept moving.

 

Wreckage blocked the gate to the airfield. Locke clambered over it, sending small bits of debris clattering to the pavement, the weight of his MJOLNIR armor making him crash through the obstacle as much as climb over it. He took a moment to find his balance, looked up, and found himself staring at Waterloo. The former bar was covered in battle scars. Scorch marks and bullet holes adorned every exterior surface. When did he arrive on Meridian?

 

The wind kicked up, blowing away the smoke that lingered on the battlefield. Locke noticed a statue in front of the building itself. Curious, he moved to get a closer look. The open expanse of the auxiliary airfield was pockmarked with craters. It took him a minute to navigate his way through it.

 

The statue was of the Master Chief. The legendary Spartan was standing heroically, his rifle resting on his shoulder, his gaze inscrutable behind his marble visor. It was a depiction that was a common sight across all of human space: the Master Chief standing triumphant after the final days of the Human-Covenant War. A symbol of human victory and, more importantly, human survival.

 

There was movement at the base of the statue itself. Locke's eyes darted to the source: an injured figure, clad in badly damaged MJOLNIR armor, lying on its back, facing him, helpless. This was it. This was what he had been looking for.

 

The Master Chief.

 

Finally. Locke had found him. He had found the man responsible for the destruction of Meridian. For all of the lives lost there.

 

He couldn't resist rubbing it in the man's face.

 

“All hail the conquering hero,” Locke sneered. “Let us remember him as our protector, and not the one that gave us,” Locke gestured at the scorched remains of Meridian Colony, “ _this_ ”.

 

Locke's movement's were large. His gestures were broad and encompassing. He moved as if on a stage, playing up the drama, trying to make a good scene for posterity. Trying to sell the story.

 

“As our savior and not our betrayer. Let us see him forever as you,” Locke said to the statue, its marble surface pristine, its heroic visage unmarred by rebellion or sin, “and not as you,” he said to the wretched, guilty soldier at his feet.

 

“All hail the conquering hero. The one who was supposed to save us all!” Locke shouted, his voice tinged with pain and grief. He steeled himself, tried to calm his nerves. He was a professional. He could do this.

 

“But now I must save us,” Locke aimed his battle rifle at the Master Chief's head, “from you.”

 

A fierce wind blew over the airfield before Locke could pull the trigger. Silicate particles and dust completely blocked his vision. He became disoriented from the sheer force of the gale and his utter inability to get his bearings.

 

The silicate smoke started to clear. The statue and the Master Chief were gone. Locke saw a figure moving toward him through the smoke.

 

The Spartan IV tried to raise his battle rifle, but...he couldn't move. He looked down at his body to find himself lying on his back. His armor had been badly damaged; a beam rifle shot had clearly pierced straight into his chest cavity. Locke was helpless.

 

The figure moved closer. The wind finally blew the last of the smoke clear. The Master Chief was standing before him, rifle in hand.

 

No...

 

The legendary Spartan began to speak. His voice was rough, wearied, almost sorrowful in tone. He sounded every bit the decades-long veteran that he was.

 

“This...is this what you wanted? Is this what you were looking for?” he asked Locke. The Chief looked around him at the ruins of Meridian. His movements were small, economical. He was a man on the job. He sighed and looked back at the ONI Agent laying helpless before him. “Was everything you've compromised, everything you've done—worth it? Was it?”

 

Indignant, desperate rage burned in Locke's chest. How dare this man blame  _him_ for the destruction of Meridian, for the deaths of its colonists! This was all his doing!

 

It _had_ to be...

 

The Master Chief looked over Locke's shoulder. The wounded man followed his gaze to find the statue of the Chief towering over him. The image had been badly damaged. Bullet holes and scorch marks decorated the facade and chunks had been blown off of the arm, revealing the steel framework underneath. Whatever inspiring words were inscribed in the base were obscured by a smear of fresh, red blood.

 

“You've completed your mission, _Agent Locke,_ ” the Chief spat out the name, his voice laden with disdain. He raised his assault rifle and pointed it at Locke's head. “Mine is just beginning...”

 

The barrel of the assault rifle flashed. The world exploded in light.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Locke jerked awake. He moved in an uncoordinated mess for several seconds before he managed to get his bearings. He was in his bunk, in the quarters that the Arbiter had assigned to Fireteam Osiris. Right.

 

The Spartan IV sat up. He was drenched in sweat. Another damn nightmare. It seemed like he couldn't shut his eyes without finding himself in another one. He grabbed his compad and checked the time. There were still several hours to go before reveille. A few more after that before the Arbiter's war council.

 

_Wonderful_ , Locke grumbled to himself, swinging his legs out of the cot. 

 

There would be no getting back to sleep. Locke knew better than that by now. He stifled a yawn, careful not to wake up any of his subordinates, and moved to take a shower. Hopefully he'd find a way to make the next few hours go by quicker than a snail's pace.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The war council was held in a command tent perilously close to the front lines. The sounds of moving vehicles and roving sentries could occasionally be heard through the weapons-resistant fabric of the enclosure. Locke could respect a commander that led from the front, but the Arbiter was starting to seem positively reckless with how often he put himself at risk.

 

The ONI Agent gave the Arbiter a sangheili salute and received a nod in return. He moved to take his place around the circular holographic projector. Several sangheili high-officers flanked him on both sides. One of them directed a slight sneer at him after he took his place. Locke tried to shrug it off. It wasn't like he had intended to win any popularity contests when he came to this piss-stain of a planet.

 

The rest of Fireteam Osiris took their places toward the rear of the tent. Apparently, they had earned enough trust and respect to be included in the briefing itself.

 

An intense pain suddenlyt lanced through Locke's skull. He kept any sign of his discomfort off of his face through what felt like a herculean effort. He surreptitiously scanned the other occupants of the room to see if anyone had noticed this latest episode. He breathed a bit easier when none of them showed any signs of being aware.

 

These headaches had been getting more and more frequent in the last month. Combined with his fatigue from poor sleep, the pain made Locke...testy. He would have to watch himself.

 

The final attendee of the war council finally entered the tent.

 

The unggoy general was clothed in a white uniform. With an effort, Locke recalled that before the fall of the old Covenant, the highest rank an unggoy could aspire to was that of a low-officer, the equivalent of a non-com. Said unggoy low-officers received a suit of white armor to mark their station. Judging by what he had seen since his arrival, the color had become a sign of authority among the post-War unggoy. He'd have to mention that in his next report to ONI Command.

 

The prospect of gaining valuable intelligence reminded Locke of the importance of being on top of his game. He forced himself to power through his fatigue and continue analyzing the scene as it played out.

 

The diminutive general saluted the Arbiter. The sangheili leader responded with the same nod of recognition and respect he had given all of those present. The unggoy waddled to his seat, apparently abstaining from his kind's normal 4-legged casual walk in order to keep up appearances. He climbed atop the stool that allowed him to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the sangheili officers.

 

Some of the sangheili officers, including the one that had sneered at Locke a moment ago, noticeably bristled at the presence of the unggoy. It seemed not all of the sangheili were happy about the Arbiter's ideals of equality. Locke filed this fact away for later use. Anything that could undermine the sangheili's racial unity would be an advantage for humanity, after all.

 

“General Key-sam, how goes New Balaho?” the Arbiter asked, referring to the first of the so-called 'free' unggoy colony worlds.

 

“My people and I thank you for your concern, Arbiter,” the unggoy said in its kind's typical high-pitched, squeaky voice. “Things are progressing well. We should be fully self-sufficient within 5 stellar cycles.”

 

“It may well be sooner,” the Arbiter replied, his upper mandibles spreading in a grin. “We have recently made a breakthrough in our agricultural efforts. Coordinator Ya-yap should contact your people soon.”

 

Strangely, some of the sangheili officers seemed to approve of this, although they were notably not the ones who had bristled at the unggoy's entrance. Locke found it odd that any of them were happy about the elevation of the unggoy to true independence. Then again, the whole program had always baffled him. He would have expected the sangheili to keep the unggoy as subservient as possible to keep them from becoming a threat.

 

More strange was the Arbiter's personal involvement. Locke had noticed that the sangheili leader seemed to have a hand in every aspect of his nascent empire. While this was beneficial in some ways, it also seemed to indicate that the Arbiter had difficulty with delegating authority. Locke supposed it made sense that he would have a difficult time trusting after the betrayal of his Prophets.

 

The Arbiter's MO would ensure that his ideals were uniformly represented but it also made him the linchpin for the entire operation. Everything would likely fall apart if he was removed for any extended period of time. If he died, it could well spell the end of his cultural revolution.

 

Locke filed that thought away for future use.

 

“Now, to the matters at hand,” the Arbiter said. He pressed a button on the holographic terminal. An aerial view of the seaport appeared over the table's surface. The region was full of rocky cliffs and jagged terrain. The port itself occupied the one stretch of shore that could be called 'hilly' rather than utterly insurmountable . Unfortunately, the only way to access this area was via a single, heavily fortified ravine. “We must move to capture this port at the earliest possible moment. I trust you have all devised your own strategies. Legionmaster 'Heran?”

 

The various high-officers spent the next hour trying to convince the Arbiter to choose their battle plans over those of their peers. None of them factored in an aerial assault, as the anti-air turrets made such an approach non-feasible. Theoretically they could have Fireteam Osiris perform another High Altitude Load Open drop like at the slaver fortress, but it had been risky enough doing that once. The defenses in the ravine were far more extensive and jeopardizing a high-value asset like Osiris in such a way was unacceptable.

 

Each officer's proposal was, Locke thought, overly conventional. They were all some variation on a direct assault with various forms of indirect support. Plasma mortar fire to soften up the defenses, armored vehicles leading the charge, etc., etc. All of these plans would result in enormous numbers of Swords casualties.

 

More importantly to Locke, they would take far too much time.

 

“If I may, Arbiter, I would like to suggest an alternative course,” Locke interjected. The sangheili all stared at him in disbelief.

 

“You speak out of turn, wretch!” one of them, 'Heran, bit out.

 

“Peace, Legionmaster,” the Arbiter said, trying to play peacemaker.

 

'Heran was having none of it. “My liege, he goes too far! We should never have allowed this mon-kay into our proceedings--”

 

“WHO IS ARBITER?”

 

Everyone present sat up straighter. Even Locke was taken aback by the sheer authority the sangheili leader poured into his words. For his part, 'Heran immediately turned his gaze downward and lowered his head into a bow. “ _You_ are Arbiter, my liege,” he said, the scolding having its desired effect.

 

“Spartan Locke is unfamiliar with our ways,” the Arbiter continued. “I am confident that he meant no disrespect and that he will endeavor not to speak out of turn in the future. Correct?” Here he glanced at the Spartan IV. Locke nodded in agreement. The Arbiter turned back to 'Heran. “In addition, you will refrain from using any more racial epithets while you are speaking of or with one of my guests. Is that understood?” 'Heran nodded again. That task done, the Arbiter turned back toward the war council as a whole. “At any rate, I find myself interested in what he wishes to add. Spartan?”

 

“Thank you, Arbiter,” Locke began, forcing false respect into his tone. The sangheili general's outburst had affected him more than he would have expected it to. He made sure to pick his words carefully from here on. “According to the intelligence reports, there is a large number of kig-yar mercenaries within the bottleneck. The Storm's financial troubles, exacerbated by the destruction of their slaver fortress, has resulted in delayed and decreased wages for said mercenaries.” Locke braced himself before continuing. “My proposal is simple: we bribe the kig-yar to pull out, preferably sabotaging the defenses along the way. We stand to save lives, resources, and time.”

 

The Arbiter and a few of the sangheili generals calmly thought over Locke's proposal.

 

The rest of the room exploded in outrage.

 

“Surely you jest!”

 

“There is no honor in cheating our way out of battle!”

 

“We shall not lower ourselves to work with sell-swords!”

 

“You would have us reward those who make war against us and rape our homeworld?!”

 

None were louder in their opposition than 'Heran. Apparently, he had decided to channel his embarrassment from being reprimanded into rage and to vent it upon the most convenient target of opportunity.

 

“Outrageous!” Locke's new best friend shouted. “This proposal is hideous and dishonorable! Such subterfuge may suit a weak race like yours, but the sangheili are above such petty tricks!”

 

That did it. The headache, the lack of sleep, the explosion of noise...Locke couldn't take it anymore. He had to respond.

 

“And your tactics are juvenile and stupid! I suppose I shouldn't have expected more from a rabid brute of a general officer!”

 

Silence.

 

Locke's shout had overpowered the entire room. Everyone had heard it. The Arbiter, who had rushed to his defense earlier, did nothing. He stared at the Spartan with an impenetrable expression. Locke got the impression he'd just screwed up. Pretty badly.

 

A line of text scrolled across the bottom of his HUD.

 

**Sir. Challenge him to a duel. It's the only way to maintain your respectability, Sir.**

 

Spartan Olympia Vale. One of the foremost experts on sangheili culture in the galaxy, standing in the back of the room and having witnessed the entire exchange, had just advised him on how to proceed. Locke decided he would be foolish not to listen to her.

 

The fact that he would get to pound the split-lipped prick's face into the ground was completely beside the point.

 

“Legionmaster 'Heran,” Locke began in a far more restrained, formal tone. “I believe we have reached an impasse. Perhaps if we were to engage in an honorable duel, this strife would be resolved.”

 

'Heran's reptilian eyes were trying to burn holes through Locke's skull. His mandibles were so tight against his face that Locke was surprised he was able to talk at all. “If the Arbiter permits, it would appease my dignity entirely.”

 

“Hmmm. I consent to this duel,” the Arbiter weighed in after a moment of contemplation. “It will give us each time to meditate upon Spartan Locke's proposal. I caution you to be swift, however—we shall not wait more than an hour for your return.”

 

A low growl emanated from 'Heran's throat. “Fear not, my liege. It will take but a moment.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

A circular patch of ground was quickly marked off with glowing stakes driven into the ground. Various members of the sangheili forces gathered to watch. Locke scowled as he examined the practice energy sword he had been given.

 

“Legionmaster 'Heran's record indicates that he favors brute force tactics to achieve victory,” Vale said, playing the role of boxing coach. “You'll want to focus on evading his strikes and taking shots of opportunity. You--”

 

“I've got this, Spartan Vale,” Locke interrupted. He wanted to get in the ring, beat the split-lip into submission, and be done with this. There was a war to fight, after all.

 

For his part, 'Heran looked as ready to go as he did. The 2 combatants entered the ring, armor off and weapons drawn. Locke missed the strength and speed enhancing functions of his MJOLNIR but figured he could handle things just fine. They reached the center of the ring.

 

The opponents saluted each other as expected.

 

The sangheili roared and rushed to his target. Locke had been expecting this. He dodged the strike, pivoting around to slash at the alien's back. The sangheili roared again, this time in pain. Locke grinned at the minor burn that the sangheili would sport.

 

'Heran turned and struck Locke across the gut with his free hand.

 

Locke collapsed on the ground, unable to breathe.

 

There was no way someone that big should have been able to move that fast. He twisted out of the way a millisecond before the sangheili's hoof would have crashed through his head. Locke attempted to strike back.

 

'Heran dodged Locke's attempt to swipe at his legs.

 

The sangheili snorted in contempt, but the move had the desired effect of giving Locke room to get to his feet. His muscles burned at the lack of oxygen as the human attempted to breathe normally again after the blow to his stomach.

 

'Heran charged again, cleaving a large swipe through the air.

 

This time, Locke managed to dodge.

 

'Heran's followup still managed to clip his shoulder and spin him around like a top.

 

It occurred to Locke's fatigue-addled brain that he had neglected to factor in the sangheili general's decades of experience with melee combat. He had probably started learning to wield a blade from the day he could walk. In a restricted duel, without MJOLNIR armor and where fighting dirty was off the table, the Spartan IV was thoroughly outclassed.

 

'Heran pushed the attack. Locke was forced to put all of his energy into dodging.

 

'Heran struck. Locke dodged.

 

'Heran swiped. Locke barely managed to parry.

 

'Heran struck high. Locke dodged, only to find himself having fallen for a feint.

 

The kick landed on his ribs. He bit back the pain as he desperately moved to stay ahead of his opponent.

 

Theoretically, all Locke had to do was keep dodging for long enough for his opponent to tire himself out. The sangheili's swings and movements were so broad and powerful that Locke was surprised he hadn't collapsed yet.

 

The problem was, Locke was getting tired, too. The damage from the blows that 'Heran managed to land were starting to take their toll, as well.

 

'Heran managed to clip Locke's ribs again.

 

Judging by the pain, the human guessed that the super-strong materials coating his bones were the only reason he wasn't dealing with a fractured rib cage.

 

'Heran chuckled in amusement.

 

That's it. That was _**it!**_

 

Locke roared as he charged the sangheili.

 

Taken by surprise, 'Heran brought his weapon up and struck at Locke. The Spartan took the blow on his left arm.

 

Locke battered the sword away, pushing past the pain, and landed a slash directly across 'Heran's chest.

 

The sangheili roared, in anger more than agony. He moved to counterattack--

 

Locke pushed in again. This time, the blade struck the human's leg. Locke didn't care—he'd landed a stab into 'Heran's sword-arm.

 

Locke threw everything he had into the next few seconds. 'Heran could only bring his weapon up in guard as the human battered away at his defenses.

 

Smash!

 

Smash!

 

Smash!

 

Locke shouted one final time and threw his whole weight onto his opponent, carrying them both to the ground. The Spartan held down his opponent's weakened primary arm and pressed his own weapon to the sangheili's throat.

 

“ _Yield!_ ” Locke managed to say between desperate breaths. He prayed 'Heran would submit. He had nothing left to throw at the alien.

 

“...I yield.”

 

Relief crashed over Locke. Unfortunately, this meant his adrenaline levels dropped.

 

Locke collapsed onto the ground next to his opponent.

 

“Ha!”

 

Laughter. The sangheili was laughing at him. Anger started to push its way past the wall of fatigue.

 

“You fought well, human!”

 

_Wait...what?_

 

Locke, still gulping down air, turned his head to look at his opponent. 'Heran was also lying on the ground, propped up on an elbow. His upper mandibles were spread in a smile as he looked at him.

 

“I was not expecting such a fight,” 'Heran stated. He continued to stare at Locke for a few moments, apparently mulling something over. “Perhaps...there is more to you than I suspected.”

 

_This fucking planet..._

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The combat stims burned their way through Locke's veins. Energy transfused his body, pushing back the fatigue that had hindered him earlier.

 

They also helped him ignore the bruises and minor burns from the duel a few hours ago.

 

Locke pushed the memory of that unpleasant encounter out of his mind and turned around. The other members of Fireteam Osiris were doing a last minute check of their gear. Good. None of them had noticed his surreptitious use of stimulants.

 

“Status report,” Locke ordered.

 

“We're good to go, boss,” Tanaka replied. The rest of the Spartans IVs nodded in confirmation. Excellent.

 

“Mount up, people. We're Oscar Mike.”

 

The Spartans all took their respective places. Locke boarded the Type-46 Infantry Support Vehicle, or 'Spectre', taking the driver's seat. Buck climbed in the passenger seat, his SMG ready to provide fire support. Tanaka, naturally, took the gunner position toward the rear of the vehicle. The powerful Class-1 light plasma cannon made for a formidable weapon. The SAW gunner's thick armor would mitigate the lack of protection that the 360º turret normally suffered from.

 

Vale boarded the Type-32 Rapid Attack Vehicle, or 'Ghost', there being no more room on the 3-passenger Spectre. The fast, agile Ghost suited her skillset better, anyway.

 

The members of Fireteam Osiris moved to take their place with the rest of the Swords assault force. A number of vehicles, from Wraith tanks to Ghosts, would be charging the fortified ravine. Locke just hoped that the plan worked.

 

Within 20 minutes the order was given and the assault force moved out. The gravity drives kicked up clouds of beige dirt and loose sandstone as it moved toward the target. As time went on, the debris took on a darker shade, indicating their proximity to the coast. They were getting closer.

 

The vehicles turned a corner in the rocky landscape and came within sight of the ravine. What seemed like dozens of defensive turrets oriented to target the Swords vehicles. They glowed with a bright, blue light as plasma began to collect along their barrels.

 

_Come on, come on..._

 

Abruptly, one of the turrets exploded.

 

Then, another.

 

Within moments, all of the defensive turrets not dedicated to anti-air had been disabled. The sounds of energy weapons fire being traded back and forth echoed over the distance. Locke grinned within his helmet. His plan had worked.

 

The kig-yar were retreating.

 

The under-paid mercenaries were holding up their end of the bargain. In exchange for a large sum of currency and the guarantee of safe passage off of the planet, the kig-yar had agreed to retreat from the fortified position and disable what defenses they could along the way. They had refused to disable the anti-air batteries for fear that the Swords would simply direct an air-strike against the area while they were still there.

 

Locke imagined he could see the line of avian sapients making a fighting retreat to whatever holes they planned on hiding in until the fighting was over. It seemed they didn't relish the prospect of continuing to fight for the losing side. Locke was reminded of rats deserting a sinking ship.

 

The Wraith tanks finally came into range. Plasma mortars arced over the field and impacted the defenses.

 

Energy barriers flared and fizzled out of existence. Alien metals began to glow red, struggling valiantly to withstand the barrage. Several parts of the barricades began to melt into slag.

 

The faster vehicles, including those assigned to Fireteam Osiris, opened up as they got into range. Tanaka fired her plasma canon in long bursts, raking the tops of the walls with fire. Several hostiles were partially vaporized as the large balls of plasma impacted them. Others lunged for cover. Locke would swear he could hear Tanaka whooping in excitement as she unloaded on the enemy.

 

Multiple Swords vehicles began exploding around them. The sheer volume of small weapons fire, as well as shots from shoulder-mounted fuel rod guns, were starting to take their toll. Locke and Vale used their enhanced reflexes to dodge and weave their way through the enemy fire. Their vehicles didn't receive so much as a scratch as they closed the distance.

 

Eventually, they reached the defenses themselves. Solid metal walls flanked a large entrance blocked by an energy barrier. They would have to scale the walls and disable the generators if they were going to get through.

 

Buck and Vale dismounted as the vehicles continued to provide suppressing fire. Multiple squads of spec ops sangheili joined them at the base of the wall. As one, they all activated their maneuvering jets and ascended the 10 meters to the top of the walls.

 

The vehicles stepped back their assault, not wanting to hit their own soldiers. They restricted their fire to groups of enemies that popped up to try vainly to damage them. The sounds of weapons fire picked up again, having died down as the kig-yar moved out of sight.

 

Eventually, the sound of demo charges overwhelmed the chatter of small-arms fire. The energy barrier blinked out of existence. The Swords vehicles moved forward.

 

Fire lanced down from the steep hills surrounding the ravine. Spectres and Ghosts exploded in balls of blue flame as they were overwhelmed.

 

“Fireteam Osiris, dismount!” Locke commed. He had no intention of charging into a kill-zone.

 

Instead, he had his troops move to scale the steep inclines to the tops of the hills themselves. With the Storm forces' attention fixed on the main assault, the resistance to their ascent was relatively minor. They used their maneuvering thrusters to keep their balance as they moved up. Tanaka provided suppressing fire from her SAW, forcing the smarter enemies to duck into cover. The dumber ones kept firing and had their energy shields depleted. Locke took them down with expert headshots.

 

The Storm forces at the top of the hill were completely unprepared for their flanking maneuver. The Spartan IVs cut into their defenses with their trademark efficiency. The resistance having been thinned, they were soon joined by the spec ops sangheili.

 

They all moved to disable the anti-air turrets next. With those out of the way, the Swords aircraft would be able to move in and mop up the remaining resistance with precision bombardment.

 

The defenses around the guns were in disarray. Apparently, the kig-yar retreat had been as effective as they could have hoped. It was a swift matter to neutralize the defenders, plant the charges, and watch the mighty Tyrant guns go up in blue flame.

 

The battle lasted less than an hour. The Phantoms and Banshees did their work, reducing any remaining resistance to molten glass. That finished, they moved on, flying low to attack the seaport itself.

 

The ground shook. A large section of the terrain collapsed downward only to explode back up in a geyser of soil and rock. Terror spiked through Locke as memories of the Guardian of Meridian flew before his eyes.

 

_No. Not yet!_

 

Thankfully, a Guardian did not emerge from the ground between them and the seaport. Unfortunately for the aircraft, what did was still quite deadly.

 

A massive shape rose out of the ground. Then it kept rising.

 

And rising.

 

And rising.

 

A bulbous, oval shape was the first part to rise into view. The gleaming dark-blue armor-plating was marred by the soil and rocks still sticking to its surface. A rain of debris fell as the thing continued to rise into sight.

 

10 meters of what seemed like solid metal rose, followed by a ring of 7-meter tall energy barriers. Below that was a 25 meter tall, 30-meter wide cylindrical base being lifted out of its hole by 3 insectoid, 50-meter tall mechanical legs.

 

The titanic machine climbed out of its resting place like an ancient monster out of its own grave. The soldiers below looked like insects staring up at an utterly alien apex predator. The world seemed to slow to a crawl as the tripedal monstrosity settled onto its feet.

 

Green lights began appearing all around the sides of the base. His mouth hanging open, Locke used his helmet's zoom function to get a better look. His eyes widened as he saw the fuel rod canons mounted there.

 

Green fuel rod rounds shot into the air. Phantoms and Banshee gunships exploded as they were blown out of the sky by the heavy turrets. What few managed to survive the initial volleys banked and flew back to safety behind Swords lines.

 

The aerial threat neutralized, the behemoth turned its attention to the armored transports and attack vehicles that had been moving toward the seaport. The dozens of fuel rod canons transformed the convoy into something resembling a cross between the surface of Luna and the molten remains of a volcanic eruption.

 

“What the fuck is that?!” Tanaka shouted. “Some kind of Scarab?!”

 

“Bigger than any I've ever seen,” Buck replied. Even the veteran ODST's voice seemed awed by the spectacle before him.

 

Locke pulled his mouth closed with an effort, grateful for his polarized visor. “Regroup, Osiris,” he ordered. “This just got more complicated.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The Kraken finally makes its appearance. I couldn't find the dimensions of the things online, so I just made it as big as I figured I should. 
> 
> Note: The Kraken was another bungled element of Halo 5's story. It's supposed to be this huge, intimidating thing, but it never pulls it off, imo. Sure, it's big, but like the Guardians, we never get to see it actually do anything. The first thing it actually does is to lose a fight against the Forerunner Soldiers in the first level. How intimidating. Compare that to the Scarab's introduction in Halo 2—the first time you see it, it shoots down your Pelican with you in it. The second time, it's walking away into the distance, having just annihilated a fortified position without taking a dent. The 3rd time, it oneshots a Scorpion tank with its main gun. Now that's how you set up a major threat.
> 
> Note: The beginning dream sequence is an adaptation of the 'All Hail' and 'The Cost' trailers that were released prior to the launch of Halo 5. One of you noticed the similarity between the scene of Locke's near assassination and those trailers. One of the reasons I designed the scene like that was to setup the dream sequence in this chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	35. Ch 34 Push to the Shore, part 2

Chapter 34: Push to the Shore, part 2

 

The hallway had been quiet for several minutes. Nearly an hour, in fact. Mahkee had waited patiently, as she always did when she viewed the letter again.

 

The dataslate rested on her bunk, just in front of her sitting form. She had found it between her sheets long ago. Just after she had been officially inducted into the 9th Legion as a pilot. Scrawled upon the back of its casing was a series of markings which still threatened to drown the sangheili female in memories from another lifetime.

 

The markings were part of a code that she had invented as a child. She had always enjoyed playing war, even when she had been committed to eventually filling the 'proper' role of a housewife. She had delighted in communicating with her playmates in such a way that only they would be able to understand. She had executed a number of pranks with its help.

 

There were only ever a few people in the world who knew the code. Nearly all of them were now dead.

 

All except one.

 

It had taken several days for Mahkee to work up the courage to view the message. It pained her that she would be so cowardly; that a sangheili warrior, who had already faced mortal combat and lived, would be cowed by a mere dataslate. Still, her caution had been warranted. Mahkee had waited until she was sure—as sure as she could be—that she wouldn't be observed before she finally viewed it.

 

That had been years ago. Mahkee had viewed the letter several times since then. She was unsure why. Perhaps she was more sentimental than she cared to admit. She activated the dataslate once again.

 

A hologram appeared over the surface of the device. A male sangheili with familiar features stared back at her. It was a recorded message. Mahkee pressed play.

 

“Cherished Cousin,” the recording began. It had been nearly a decade since Mahkee had seen her Aunt's son, Kitun 'Savan. The recording continued. “I pray this message finds you well. I only wish I could see you in person. I...” the male sangheili trailed off for a moment. Mahkee could see him compose himself, force himself not to be overcome by emotion. A sangheili warrior must show no weakness. “I had feared that I was the only one left. Words cannot express the joy I felt upon learning that you, my oldest friend, had survived the betrayal of the san shy'uum. Regardless of what happens, of where fate lands us, know that I will I will always love you, Makky.”

 

Mahkee nearly teared up as she heard that damnable nickname again. How she had hated that intentional mispronunciation as a young child. She was amazed at how welcome it now sounded to her ear ridges. She struggled to keep herself composed. A sangheili warrior must show no weakness.

 

The message kept playing.

 

“Now I must ask that most difficult question: why?” the hologram asked. “Why have you sided with the false-Arbiter and his heretics? Do you not know that they discard the Old Ways? Do you not know how they make a mockery of all that our forefathers believed?” Kitun's face took on a sympathetic expression. “I know the doubt that you must feel, Cousin. I felt it myself after the Great Schism. I, too, saw the betrayal of the Prophets. Surely, though, you must know that the Old Ways preceded the Old Covenant? Much of what the Prophets taught was false, but the Didact's Hand has removed those teachings. The great 'Mdama guides us down the path our ancestors followed. Under him, the Storm Covenant is different. It upholds the traditions of Sanghelios from before the Covenant, before the Prophet's lies. The false-Arbiter would have use abandon all of it!” Kitun's expression took on an air of outraged exasperation. “By the gods, many do not even worship the Holy Forerunners! That grotesque joke of an 'Arbiter' actually tolerates _atheism!_ How can you see that and not flee in revulsion? How, Cousin Mahkee?”

 

A bitter smile grew on Mahkee's face. How ignorant her relative was. The Old Ways? Under that system, she would be forbidden from carrying on her family legacy. Kitun was honorable, but he was not the child of her father. He was also a member of the Honor Guard—the most elite warriors in all of the Old Covenant. His oaths had stripped him of all connection to his family and forbidden him from ever siring heirs. If anyone was to redeem the name ''Chava', it would have to be her. The Storm Covenant would forever deny that to her. It would destroy her dreams. If only Kitun could see that.

 

If only he could also see the slavery, drug trafficking, and other evils that the Storm was willing to stoop to. Her cousin must be blind indeed not to see how utterly barbaric that faction truly was. Perhaps 'Mdama or the rest of the Storm leadership had warriors like him isolated from all of the truly vile aspects of their rule. Granted, the letter had been sent in the early days of the current conflict, back when the true evil of Jul 'Mdama had yet to fully show itself. Perhaps he had since seen the truth.

 

Or perhaps he was dead. Perhaps Mahkee was finally, truly, alone...

 

“I know the fire that dwells within you, Cherished Cousin,” 'Kitun's message continued, oblivious to Mahkee's thoughts. “I remember the days we spent as younglings, hunting the vermin that grew upon our lands. I remember the time we sneaked onto the plains and hunted a true predator. We both proved ourselves to be steel that day. But Cousin,” his eyes took on a pleading expression, “it is not the place of a female to _wear_ steel. She should _be_ steel, hidden behind silk. You should be wed and on you way to becoming a matriarch by now. You deserve all of the honor and respect that I know you can attain. Please. I beg you...abandon your foolish path. Come and join me in the new Covenant.”

 

There was a pause. Perhaps he intended to give Mahkee a moment to think before continuing. Perhaps the emotion of the message was overwhelming him. There was no way to know.

 

The holographic image of her relative steeled its expression. “I pray you will heed my plea, Cousin Mahkee. Till that day...I wish you well.”

 

The message ended. Mahkee continued to stare at Kitun's likeness. It was an effort to force back tears.

 

The sound of footsteps reached through the walls. Mahkee hurriedly stashed the dataslate in its hiding place and feigned sleep. There were still many hours until her duties recommenced.

 

Sleep, as always, proved elusive for the warrior.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Mahkee's Phantom screamed close overhead, passing Locke's position as its pilot rushed to the relative security of the other side of the ravine. The Spartan couldn't blame her.

 

The Kraken was heading their way.

 

The enormous walking tank thundered its way toward the Swords position and there didn't seem to be any way to stop it. The Arbiter's ships in orbit wouldn't dare fire their starship-grade weapons at the sacred soil of Sanghelios. The mobile weaponry of the Swords forces on the ground wouldn't even make a dent in the Kraken's armor.

 

_Damn it, there has to be a way to stop it,_ Locke thought to himself. If they allowed the Storm to recapture the ravine it would be nearly impossible to take it back again. There would be no repeat of the kig-yar defection. Not to mention the fire-support of the Kraken making another vehicular assault tantamount to mass suicide. 

 

Occasional fuel rod shots from the Kraken itself flew by overhead or detonated on the ground before the Spartans' position. Locke and the rest of Fireteam Osiris took what cover they could behind the derelict Storm defenses. The bright flashes and thunderous detonations started growing more and more all-encompassing. Soon, the lumbering beast would get within effective weapons range. There were, at most, minutes before they would be forced to retreat or be glassed themselves.

 

The Spartan and ONI Agent forced himself to focus. Think logically. Not an easy feat considering the circumstances, but he had plenty of practice. He tuned out the world around him.

 

What did they need to accomplish?

 

For the moment, they needed to hold the ravine.

 

What was preventing them from doing that?

 

The big goddamn war machine heading their way.

 

How can they stop it?

 

Either destroy it or, failing that, drive it off.

 

How can they do that?

 

There was the question. Locke couldn't see any way of disabling the Kraken before it reached them. There were no visible weaknesses to target. Even the limbs were heavily armored (how the hell did a thing that heavy not sink into the ground?). There were no visible openings to board it. The energy barriers along its top seemed to block all potential entry points.

 

So, neutralizing it was probably out. How about driving it off?

 

They would either have to heavily damage it or convince its commander that it was too risky to pursue a direct attack. The damn thing had to be too expensive to risk letting it get crippled so early into its deployment. Problem was, Locke didn't know of any weapons in their possession that could pose such a threat to their encroaching doom.

 

“Osiris Lead to Legionmaster 'Heran. Please respond, over,” Locke commed.

 

“I heed you, Osiris Lead. I take it you have another suggestion?” There was a bit more hope and respect in the sangheili's tone than there had been at the war council. Apparently, beating him up was the best way to ingratiate oneself with the sangheili general.

 

“Do you have any weaponry capable of harming the Kraken?” Locke asked, using the ad hoc name that the Swords forces had immediately coined for the thing.

 

There was a growl over the comms. “Though I am loathe to admit it, no, I do not. None had anticipated that...monstrosity,” 'Heran bit out. “I ask again, do you have a solution?”

 

“Stand by,” Locke said. He thought some more. There had to be a way.

 

The only weaponry with the kind of firepower they needed were the stationary guns the Storm had set up above the ravine. Unfortunately, they had all been destroyed to allow the Swords aircraft to join the fight. Locke examined each of the cannons as best he could from his position. Maybe one of them was salvageable.

 

_Scrap...Slag...Trashed..._

 

One by one Locke eliminated guns as possibilities. The demo charges had been too thorough. At last, he paused, his eyes zeroing in on one that looked mostly whole.

 

“Osiris, I'm going to go check out that Tyrant,” he commed, sending a signal that would highlight the weapon on their HUDs. After receiving their acknowledgments, he leaped from his cover and sprinted toward the gun in question.

 

This particular Tyrant must have been disabled by one of the sangheili teams. Osiris would have never done such a sloppy job. Locke found an intact control surface and plugged his gauntlet into it. The advanced programs within his suit enabled him to interface with the alien computer systems. He ran a diagnostic.

 

Locke grimaced as he analyzed the data. The gun's ability to move had been heavily damaged. He estimated maybe a 45º cone of targeting. That was assuming they could repair the circuitry that had been damaged by what Locke guessed were faulty demo charges.

 

“Osiris Lead to Legionmaster 'Heran,” Locke commed again, hoping the general wasn't too annoyed at having been place on hold for several minutes. “One of the Tyrants could be brought back online to partial functionality. Are there any engineering personnel within range?”

 

There was a delay before 'Heran responded. “None that I am willing to risk. You must find another way.”

 

The steps of the Kraken were getting louder. Locke growled in frustration before replying.

 

“We don't have time for that!” he insisted. “If we don't get this gun back online, _now_ , we will lose this position. We can't afford the cost in time and warriors to retake it, Legionmaster!”

 

Another delay. Locke imagined the proud officer fuming at the Spartan's insistence on viewing the reality of the situation. He only hoped that desire for victory would trump the general's pride.

 

“I heed you, Spartan,” 'Heran replied, at last. “I am sending a huragok to you now. If the Tyrant can indeed be repaired, it should complete the task promptly.”

 

“...Acknowledged, 'Legionmaster 'Heran,” Locke said, surprised. The jellyfish-looking engineers had been in short supply ever since the final days of the Human-Covenant War. The Jiralhanae, more commonly known by their more accurate nickname 'Brutes', had decided it would be a good idea to deploy the huragok in battle. The floating engineers were equipped with shield-generators that reinforced the personal shields of any infantry within range...as well as a self-destruct charge that would blow the incredibly valuable technological asset to bits if damaged or captured. Thus, as with the lekgolo, the Arbiter had placed them in reserve until their numbers could be restored. Apparently, fear of what 'Mdama might unleash was leading the Swords leadership to be rather liberal with that restriction.

 

So. They had a plan. Now they just needed to survive long enough for it to work.

 

“Anything we can do in the meantime, boss?” Tanaka asked after he explained the situation to the rest of Osiris. Apparently, she didn't like waiting around and hoping someone else could solve her problems for her.

 

Locke experienced a rare moment of sympathy with one of his teammates. He felt the same way.

 

After taking a moment to reexamine the area, Locke pointed at a disabled fuel rod turret. “Try to salvage what you can from that turret. Everyone else, look for heavy weapons. We can't disable that thing but we might be able to slow it down.

 

Fireteam Osiris went to work. Tanaka proceeded to rip a relatively small fuel rod cannon off of the turret. With a bit of modification, she and Buck turned it into an improvised hand-held artillery piece. The rest of them scoured the battlefield for more traditional heavy weapons, coming up with a few infantry-grad fuel rod guns.

 

The huragok arrived as they worked. Apparently this particular engineer, named 'Reaches-Far-Quickly', was on loan from some kind of university expedition. What the hell the Arbiter was thinking dedicating valuable wartime assets to academic pursuits was something he would dwell on later. For the moment, he just allowed the twittering creature to get to work on the only hope they had of holding this position.

 

The ground started to shake from the sheer force of the Kraken's footsteps. Pebbles and loose soil started to roll down the sides of the ravine.

 

The echo of its stride was rapidly ceasing to be an echo. Time was running out. The only bright side was the fact that it had ceased firing its vehicle-grade fuel rod cannons; its commander probably didn't want to risk the thing losing its footing on damaged ground. Even a minor stumble would shatter a vehicle that heavy from the sheer weight of its impact.

 

A light went off in the Spartan's head. Locke commed his subordinates. “Osiris, target the ground that the Kraken is about to step on. If we can make it proceed more carefully, we can buy the huragok more time.” Acknowledgments answered him.

 

Tanaka hefted the fuel rod cannon at waist height. The damn thing weighed too much for even her to shoulder. She used her augmented senses and the sophisticated software in her helmet to arc her shots with as much precision as possible.

 

The first several shots still missed before the Spartan got used to it. It was expected with such a cobbled-together piece of equipment. That didn't stop Locke from having a voice screaming in the back of his head to hurry the fuck up and hit the target before they were all glassed. Locke and Buck both hefted their own appropriated fuel rod weapons.

 

At last, Fireteam Osiris coordinated their fire like the supersoldiers they were supposed to be. Using their augmented reflexes, they aimed their shots to impact the precise patch of ground that the Kraken's foot landed on mere fractions of a second before impact.

 

The Kraken's pace slowed significantly. Any legged vehicle had to have sensors in the 'feet' to detect when it had tread upon unstable ground. It was a necessary and universal safety feature to prevent getting stuck or damaged. Locke could imagine the control center of the behemoth blaring with warnings and demanding action lest the war machine stumble.

 

“Status on the Tyrant!” Locke shouted into the comms.

 

“We are nearly ready, Spartan,” the Swords officer directly overseeing the huragok replied.

 

Locke ground his teeth in frustration. “Tell that thing to hurry up or we're all going to be glass!”

 

The Kraken stopped moving.

 

Silence descended across the battlefield. The sight of the walker completely still was somehow more terrifying than when it had been moving toward them. His current strategy neutralized, Locke lowered his weapon and glanced back at the Tyrant.

 

The huragok was clutching a heavy piece of hardware in 2 of its tentacles. It then used its other appendages to climb the exterior of the gun until it reached the hardware's destination. Locke had always wondered how creatures that moved by floating could handle engineering tasks without their tools pulling them to the ground. Apparently, a huragok's musculature was tough as carbon nanotubes.

 

Several shots arced off of the Kraken. “Take cover!” Locke shouted.

 

Titanic explosions surrounded the defenders. Entire sections of cliff were vaporized instantaneously. Sections of the defenses collapsed into the ravine and the plains beyond. One of the derelict defensive turrets was struck.

 

The disabled turret exploded with the force of a hurricane.

 

Those not within cover were knocked off of their feet. Rocks and debris flew through the air like bullets, leaving pockmarks in whatever cover was left. Locke's helmet automatically cut off all exterior audio to keep him from being deafened.

 

The ground shook. This time, though, it was...different. It almost felt more like a hum than the explosion of an impact. Locke risked a peak over his cover.

 

A glowing blue-white ball of plasma was flying directly at the Kraken. Locke's heart soared. The floating gas bag had done it!

 

The shot impacted directly on the energy barriers surrounding the Kraken's upper section. A blinding blue-white flash obscured Locke's vision before fading away.

 

Revealing the Kraken, completely unharmed.

 

The only evidence the shot had landed at all was the visible brightening of the energy barriers themselves, indicating they had been drained significantly by the shot. Just not enough to down them.

 

Green lights started appearing again. This time, so many activated that the Kraken seemed to be covered in a green aura. Locke opened his comms to order Osiris to retreat--

 

The green lights started winking out. The fuel rod turrets were deactivating. Abruptly, the Kraken reversed course and headed back toward the seaport. Some of the turrets took a few seconds to power down, as if reluctant to abandon the attack, but eventually they, too, fell dormant.

 

“That's the problem with secret weapons,” Buck commented, sagging to the ground in relief. “They cost so damn much you feel like you can't risk 'em. Gotta pull back if it starts to look hairy.”

 

Locke looked at the retreating Kraken. He also looked at the seaport that it was walking directly toward.

 

“They have nothing to gain by risking it here,” Locke added. “All they have to do is stall for time.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“That monstrosity is absurd,” Legionmaster 'Heran said. Locke looked at the holographic representation of the Storm war machine. The sangheili general, also represented by a hologram for the purposes of the mid-mission conference call, shook his head in contempt. “It must have cost a thousand fortunes to manufacture. They could have produced a horde of Wraith tanks for the cost of this unit alone. Not to mention the utter impossibility of transporting it to another theater of battle. I confess I admire physical might to a point, but this... _thing_ takes it too far.”

 

This was not the reaction Locke would have expected from 'Heran. This particular sangheili general struck him as the sort of soldier who would get wood just thinking about something like the Kraken. Although, the Spartan would swear he detected a bit of envy in the alien's tone.

 

Maybe he was just jealous because the Swords didn't have one of their own for him to command.

 

“It hardly matters, Legionmaster,” Locke replied with a sigh, setting aside his psychological critique of his ally of convenience. “'Mdama is nearing his endgame. All he needs to do is seize control of the Guardian and the war will be won. If the Kraken can stall us for long enough for him to accomplish his goal, the cost won't matter.”

 

The sangheili growled in frustration. Locke was fairly certain the expression wasn't directed at him but he still felt a tingle of unease. For the majority of his life those kinds of noises had been accompanied by the deaths of millions of innocents. He tried not to let the past drag him down again.

 

A notification announced the 'arrival' of another caller. A new holographic image, that of an unggoy engineer, appeared around the central image of the Kraken. “Greetings, sirs,” the diminutive alien said. “We believe we have found the origin of the device you have encountered. The Kraken, like the venerable Scarab before it, appears to have been based on designs of mining equipment.” Yet another holographic image appeared next to the representation of the Kraken, the war machine seeming to shrink to half-size to accommodate it. The new image resembled a stripped down variant of the Kraken. The unggoy explained, “This is the Le'tuc IV Excavation Unit. It is a mining platform designed to harvest valuable materials from low-gravity planetary bodies.”

 

“That explains the size, then,” Locke interrupted. It made sense that such a colossal vehicle would never have been intended for use on a planet with Earth-comparable gravity. “Any idea how 'Mdama managed to get it working in higher gravity?”

 

“We do, indeed, milord,” the diminutive alien replied deferentially. He was probably afraid of inviting the wrath of the whip if he displeased the military officers. Locke suppressed a smile as the alien engineer continued. “Judging by the readings your glorious warriors have sent us, we have determined that a powerful gravity drive has been installed within the machine's torso-section. ”

 

Locke had to suppress a whistle. 'Mdama was pulling out all the stops to throw obstacles in their way.

 

A thought occurred to him. A potential weakness that, if Locke was guessing right, could potentially lead to a solution. “The Kraken's powerplant is capable of supporting that?” he asked.

 

“Just barely, milord,” the unggoy replied. “The power core must be pushed to its very limit to sustain the additional armor, defensive barriers, and weaponry we have identified.”

 

“Meaning any additional strain could lead to the failure of one or several of those systems,” Locke pressed, smelling blood.

 

The engineer took a moment to think. “I believe you are correct, milord. It would have to be a significant strain to have any noticeable effect, of course, but the power core could only take so much.”

 

Locke stared at the holographic image of the Kraken, searching for inspiration. The jury-rigged Tyrant would be of no help. Even if they could somehow keep the walker still long enough to land several direct hits, the huragok had only been able to restore the gun to partial functionality. The plasma shots it produced were significantly weaker than that of a fully operational Tyrant. There had to be another way.

 

The crackle of blue light at the base of the Kraken's torso drew Locke's eye. That must be the gravity drive. It was clear from the way the limbs moved that the drive was only handling part of the weight, likely just enough to compensate for the gravity levels being higher than was ever intended for the original design. If they could somehow shift the titanic weight of the war machine further onto the gravity drive, it could force the Kraken to dedicate so much power to the drive that its barriers would be unable to withstand sustained fire.

 

Digging a trap, maybe? The Kraken only had 3 limbs. If one were to become disabled, such as by falling into a carefully dug pit, the gravity drive would have to be used to get the thing upright. Locke dismissed that notion. They would be unable to prepare such a trap without being seen on the enemy's side of the ravine. Any machinery that allowed them to dig one from the friendly side would produce power readings that a blind unggoy could pick up.

 

“Is there any way to dig a trap?” 'Heran asked. Locke suppressed a groan. No technology, human or alien, could perform such a feat.

 

A light went off in Locke's head. “There might be, actually,” he said to the sangheili general. If he had been willing to utilize a huragok, perhaps... “Do you have access to any lekgolo?”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Kraken continued its patrol. It had been walking, back and forth, between the ravine and the seaport for several hours. It had not varied its path in any significant way. Eventually, it would probably dig a trench just with its thunderous footsteps. It made sense that its commander wouldn't feel the need to make the vehicle's path more unpredictable. After all, there was little the Swords could do to affect it.

 

Locke was counting on that overconfidence. He continued watching the Kraken, waiting for the trap to finally spring. The war machine moved one of its 3 legs forward, utilizing the controlled falling that all 2- or 3-legged organisms require to stay mobile. The enormous 'foot' touched the ground--

 

The foot sunk into the ground. Unexpectedly—for the Storm, at least—almost the entire weight of the vehicle slammed down onto that one limb. Even across the multi-kilometer distance Locke could hear joint shatter and metal sheer from the insane weight of the thing.

 

“Fire Tyrant!” Locke shouted into the comms.

 

A few seconds later the partially functional anti-air cannon complied, launching a ball of super-heated plasma arcing toward the temporarily stationary armored fortress. Locke held his breath as the shot made its brief journey; the Tyrant would not be able to fire again without extensive repairs. The shot landed directly on the Kraken's damaged knee. Locke would have to thank that huragok for the repair job it did on the gun's targeting systems.

 

Unable to withstand the weight and the weapon damage, the Kraken's leg snapped in two. The previously dim blue glow surrounding the base of the machine's torso jumped in brightness as the gravity drive struggled to keep it upright.

 

Most importantly of all, the energy barriers surrounding the top of the Kraken's body dimmed significantly.

 

“All ships, launch assault!” Legionmaster 'Heran shouted over the comms. “Send that abomination back to the hells that spawned it!”

 

Entire wings of single-pilot banshee gunships and Phantom dropships took off and soared over the ravine. Locke felt his stomach lurch as Mahkee gunned the acceleration. He and the rest of Osiris would be on the front lines. It was one of the conditions for authorizing the use of the lekgolo.

 

More commonly known as 'hunter worms', the lekgolo were a species of 1.4 meter long air-breathing worms that were capable of neurally interfacing with each other so long as there was physical contact between them. Their ability to digest a variety of organic materials and their capability to display high levels of intelligence, up to and including sapience, made them useful to the old Covenant. Their ability to reach otherwise inaccessible parts of Forerunner ruins made them invaluable.

 

Here, though, they were used for a far more low-tech purpose. They had dug a very narrow tunnel between the ravine and the Kraken's patrol route. Once there, they had dug a deep trench for the war machine's unwary foot to fall into. The fact that the lekgolo were organic and gave off no power signatures, as well as the incredibly small tunnel necessary for reaching their objective, allowed the Arbiter's forces to prepare and execute their trap in a matter of hours.

 

It had been an absolute hell to convince Swords Command to authorize the use of the now-endangered species for this operation. Ultimately, only the continued threat of 'Mdama activating and controlling the Guardian was sufficient to scare them into action.

 

_Not quite sure it was worth it anymore,_ Locke thought as Mahkee's Phantom once again jerked to one side to dodge enemy fire. The Kraken may have been immobilized, but its fuel rod turrets were still operational. 

 

Banshees and other Phantoms exploded in the air all around them. There were several times when Locke was convinced that they were about to be hit when Mahkee pulled another impossible maneuver that somehow allowed them to escape death. He wasn't sure why the Arbiter had assigned an ace pilot to be the Spartans' babysitter but he sure wasn't complaining now.

 

At last, the surviving Swords aircraft came within effective weapons range of the Kraken. The Phantoms rained fire from their plasma guns. The banshees raked the energy barriers with fire from their plasma cannons and fuel rod guns. Focus was divided between neutralizing the Kraken's turrets and breaking through the barriers to strike at the Storm vehicle's more sensitive innards.

 

The Phantom shook as a fuel rod shot grazed its underside. Warning lights blazed blue in the interior of the troop compartment.

 

“Pilot Mahkee! Report!” Locke shouted.

 

“Still operational. Stand by,” came the response. It had the distinct air of someone who was desperately focused on something and couldn't care less about conversation at the moment. The sangheili pilot ended the comm immediately after her reply.

 

Blue flashes and lines of green lit the sky. The battle became a chaotic, incomprehensible mass of blindingly bright death.

 

Finally, blessedly, the Kraken's energy barriers collapsed from the strain. The way was open.The aircraft that were still in one piece focused their fire on the new weakpoint. Plasma and fuel rod shots rained into the gaps.

 

Nothing happened.

 

It seemed that the interior, at least this part of it, was armored, as well. It would take time to punch through.

 

Unfortunately, attrition was working against them. The Kraken's fuel rod cannons were taking their toll on the Swords fleet. Tens of Phantoms and Scores of Banshees had been shot out of the sky. They may not even be able to disable the war machine before the sheer losses forced them into a retreat. Locke ground his teeth in frustration. 

 

When it looked like they wouldn't be killed by a single distraction, Locke opened up another comm to their pilot. “Pilot Mahkee, is there any way you can get us onboard that thing?”

 

Silence.

 

Mahkee chuckled into the comms. “I may start to like you after all, human. I can land my mount inside the opening if you can ensure we are not shot down by our fellow warriors.”

 

Locke did just that. It was getting easier to convince the Swords leadership to go along with his plans. Doubtless, he was developing a reputation as some sort of mad savant.

 

Whatever their reasons, the Swords pilots promptly coordinated their fire to suppress as many of the fuel rod turrets as possible on Mahkee's angle of approach. Blue and green weapons fire flew back and forth for several seconds before the Spartans' Phantom got too close to risk friendly fire.

 

The Kraken's defenders soon realized what was happening. Tens of fuel rod turrets fired at the approaching dropship. Mahkee ducked and evaded, weaving her way through enemy fire with a grace Locke had never seen before.

 

The exterior video feed turned green. The fuel rod rounds were so numerous they eclipsed the entire world; it seemed like they had entered a tunnel a glowing death. It was one of those rare moments of beauty that Locke occasionally experienced in battle.

 

His appreciation was cut short when Mahkee slammed on the brakes and Locke was wrenched against his restraints with force of a speeding truck. The bottom of the Phantom slammed into the partially-molten interior deck of the Kraken and scraped along the surface for a few meters before stopping. Augmentations or not, Locke had to take a moment to steady himself before leaping out of his seat.

 

“Osiris, move out!” he shouted before opening one of the side hatches.

 

They found a slightly melted doorway a short distance from their 'landing' site. Tanaka applied some plasma breaching charges to the warped door and created an opening. Small arms fire poured out of the hole.

 

Lacking time for finesse, Tanaka activated her energy barrier and marched through the smoking hole, firing her SAW around her mobile protection. The rest of Osiris followed her in, careful to remain behind their walking piece of cover.

 

Unfortunately, they were unable to get a clear shot from their relatively safe position.

 

“Fire on the enemy! Use ricochets!” Locke shouted. They aimed their rifles at the walls and, utilizing their augmented senses and brainpower, bounced their bullets off of the walls and ceiling to land shots that would make any professional billiards player jealous. Naturally, the ammo lost a good deal of kinetic energy from the impact, but there was still enough power to take out several targets and weaken the enemy's defensive line.

 

Fireteam Osiris broke through the defenses and wasted little time in taking down the enemy. The close quarters meant that there were quite a few shots that hit the Spartans, but their energy shields held up to the punishment. The less-advanced Storm equipment was not so sturdy.

 

The rest of their time within the Kraken was spent in a running firefight as the Spartans rushed to find a weakpoint. The corridors shook as the fuel rod turrets continued to fire upon the Swords aircraft. Time was still running out. Locke used his hacking programs to access a schematic of the thing and locate the power core. Jackpot.

 

The toughest warriors were, naturally, guarding their target. The Storm Honor Guard were no pushovers, but Fireteam Osiris proved the superior warriors. As Locke knew they would.

 

Moments later, the core room was breached. Osiris entered. A glowing blue sphere hovered in the center of the behemoth. Rings of alien metal spun in synchronicity around the ethereal source of power. The entire room was awash in its light. This was a device that, mere decades before, UNSC scientists would have sold their souls to examine. It was a wonder of engineering that exceeded even the wildest imaginings of the pre-First Contact scientific community. It was a marvel.

 

Locke shot it a bunch. The sphere cracked.

 

The cracks began to spread. Blue-white plasma started leaking out of the device, signaling its growing instability. “Fall back to the dropship!” Locke commed.

 

The fight back was less intense but no less desperate. More than once they simply rushed past an enemy without fully engaging them, trusting their energy shields to take the damage. The hall lights started to flicker and alternately dim and brighten as they went on. The power core was becoming increasingly unstable. They had no time to waste.

 

They reached the surface and found the Phantom under attack by a small group of Swords warriors apparently as intent on living as Osiris was. Mahkee and her copilot were manning one of the side-mounted plasma cannons to keep the enemy off of them. The Spartans opened fire, cutting down the hostiles in a matter of moments.

 

The Kraken shook, swaying from side to side as some kind of internal detonation wracked its interior. Conduits burning out. Weapons systems overloading.

 

“The power core's been destabilized!” Locke shouted. “We need to leave! Go go go!”

 

The Phantom took off as soon as the hatch was shut. The Spartans had to grasp hold of whatever was available as the Mahkee pushed the dropship to maximum acceleration within seconds. Bracing himself, feeling his teeth being sucked out of his skull, Locke opened a line to the rear video feed.

 

The Kraken was trembling on its two remaining legs. The weapon turrets were all offline. The glow of the gravity drive was flickering, sending occasional arcs of blue lightning into the ground. Suddenly, all at once, the drive winked out, and the Kraken fell.

 

A wave of rock and soil was hurled into the air as the titanic war machine slammed into the earth. The shape of the walker's torso deformed as the weight of the impact crushed its internal structures. Any troops still inside were killed as the hallways were crushed like empty beer cans. For a fraction of a second, the thing just lay there.

 

The Kraken transformed into a brilliant ball of blue-white fire.

 

The shockwave rocked the Phantom, nearly making the Spartans lose their grips before Mahkee managed to stabilize their flight. The spherical fire of the walker's destruction rose into the air, shifting into a black mushroom cloud that lingered before being blown away by the wind. The ground for a quarter of a kilometer was transformed into glass by the heat of the Kraken's demise. Molten debris rained down, breaking the glass and sending cracking sounds echoing over the terrain.

 

Locke sagged into his seat as their damaged Phantom limped back behind friendly lines. The reinforcements sent by the Arbiter pushed forward to capture the seaport, their way now clear.

 

By the end of the day, they would be a single step away from Sunaion. A single step away from from victory.

 

A single step from Locke's answers.

 

Even as the combat stims wore off and the adrenaline started to fade, Locke knew there was no way in hell he'd be able to sleep that night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update. Work, procrastination, etc. 
> 
> Note: The speech Mahkee's cousin gives is inspired by the 'Silk Hiding Steel' page on tvtropes.org. From what I've heard it's a popular archetype in traditional Japanese stories. It's another bit intended to characterize sangheili culture as Japan IN SPACE!
> 
> Note: The way I dealt with the Kraken is inspired by the book How to Survive a Robot Uprising by Dr. Daniel H. Wilson. It's written by a robotics expert and I highly recommend it for its humor and layman-friendly descriptions of how real life robotics works. 
> 
> Note: We are now entering the final stretch of this story. The next part will be a brief Calm Before the Storm section for some last minute characterization and plot development. After that, it's the Battle of Sunaion and the climax of this chapter of the Spartans' lives. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys. 
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	36. Ch 35 The Calm Before the Storm

Chapter 35: The Calm Before the Storm

 

A silence had descended upon the landscape. The echoes of distant weapons fire and cries of battle had, for the moment, died down into nothing. The lack of noise was replaced by a palpable feeling of anticipation.

 

The seaport was now in the hands of the Swords of Sanghelios. The launching point for the final assault was secure. Everyone knew that, regardless of who won, the war for the future of the sangheili people would end in a matter of days.

 

Fred sighed as he set down a piece of Forerunner equipment. The huragok next to him twittered inquisitively.

 

“Just taking a break,” the Spartan informed the alien. It had been difficult to get used to working with a non-human, but the creature had been undeniably useful in studying the relics Blue Team had brought with them from Meridian. With its help he had actually managed to access the internal programming of a few. If he was right, they could have a serious asset on their hands.

 

The Spartan stood and walked around the human side of the encampment. He noticed that, once again, the sangheili academics had moved several of their storage containers just to the edge of the area the Master Chief had marked off as belonging to Blue Team. It seemed they were still intent on socializing with them. He set that thought aside; he'd talk to the Chief about it later.

 

There was an area of empty ground that the Spartans used to exercise, and it was calling to him. Fred stepped into the ring and activated his energy blade. He artfully swung it through the air, going through several practice stances and maneuvers. This session had been far overdue. Fencing was like playing a musical instrument, requiring frequent practice. Or, as CPO Mendez had always said, 'If you don't use it, you lose it'.

 

“Impressive,” a voice said from the sidelines. Fred turned and saw 'Khebrem staring at him. “I was unaware that humans possessed their own version of swordsmanship. Is it common among your clan?”

 

By 'clan' Fred took him to mean 'Spartan'. “Not particularly, no,” he responded. “There are some who are more skilled in melee combat than others, but our training has always focused on more conventional weaponry. We're kinda boring like that.”

 

“A pity,” the academic said, shaking his head sadly, apparently having missed the joke at the end. “Blades have such a long and storied history. They have been symbols of martial valor for millenia, among your people as well as mine. The advent of energy swords made them useful for specialists but the extensive training and equipment required for such warriors has lead to their number dwindling. Fewer and fewer of our leaders are willing to pay their cost.” 'Khebrem paused to sigh. “I fear Swordsmen may be a dying breed.”

 

This was a perspective that Fred had never considered. He was a soldier. His skill in melee combat had always been a mission asset, nothing more. The idea that he was part of some kind of broader culture or legacy simply had not occurred to him.

 

Fred had to admit, it held a certain appeal. He had always been and would always be a Spartan. They were the ultimate human warriors. In a way, he supposed they were the inheritors of thousands of years of warrior traditions. They had certainly studied enough historical armies and civilizations to say that they had a broad background. The idea stirred a kind of personal patriotism in the decades-long veteran.

 

The positive mood soured as the Spartan remembered that he was among the last of his kind. There were only 4 of them left. The UNSC had abandoned the idea of replicating the original project, citing prohibitive costs; a single Spartan II cost as much to train and field as a small warship. The Spartan IVs, formidable as they may have been, simply did not share the training, upbringing, and augmentations that made up a Spartan II. Once Blue Team was gone, whether killed in battle or from some other method, the Spartan IIs would cease to exist. They would be as much a piece of history as the sangheili Swordsmen would soon be.

 

“Spartan?” the sangheili academic prompted. Apparently, Fred had drifted off for a moment. He apologized and asked his host to repeat himself. “I asked if you would like to spar with me. I have never been a skilled warrior, but I did study the art of fencing as part of my education. I know that there is simply no substitute for a training partner and you claim your brethren do not share your particular passion.”

 

An invitation to spar. Fred was reminded of a similar offer he had received, several months ago. Back on the now-dead planet Meridian.

 

Sgt. Ajit Singh. His superior in his cover identity as a security officer. The older man had proved a surprisingly capable sparring partner, and a decent man besides. Now, he was dead. Lost in yet another battle that the Spartans had been powerless to win.

 

Years ago, when Fred had first entered full service in the Human-Covenant War, the loss of respected colleagues had hit him hard. His fellow Spartans the most, of course, but he did feel a bond with all of the rank-and-file. He had felt grief and loss when they died. He never allowed it to show, of course, but he would always think of them just before he drifted into unconsciousness in a cryo pod.

 

Now, there was only a kind of numb discomfort. It was the only reaction he seemed to have to loss, once he got past the initial shock and turmoil. Even the death of Dr. Halsey hadn't really produced an extreme response; simply a quiet lament that was over within minutes and then swept away. It was like being stabbed in a limb that had gone numb. He knew that he _should_ feel pain, and on some level he even did, but it was...faded. Faded enough to ignore. An echo of what it would have been in his younger years.

 

Fred had just seen too much, lost too much, to feel much else.

 

Maybe that was what Dr. Halsey meant when she said that what she did to them was 'wrong'. Fred wondered if it was unnatural to be able to keep going as long as he had. Maybe the human psyche just wasn't designed to endure so much. Maybe he should've died years ago...

 

The Spartan shook himself from his ruminations. They would only lead him to despair, and he would be damned if he had survived so much only to be defeated by his own emotions. He had sacrificed too much to let that happen. His _family_ had sacrificed too much. 

 

'Khebrem was still waiting for a response. “I'd appreciate the company,” Fred said, gesturing to the open ground in front of him. It was bizarre that he genuinely meant those words, considering he was saying them to a sangheili, but at the moment he needed the distraction.

 

The duel was quick but, paradoxically, also slow. The sangheili academic seemed to realize that he had no hope of overwhelming the Spartan's defenses and had decided to play an almost entirely defensive game. Dodges, parries, and the occasional block were what greeted Fred's lunges, stabs, and slashes. At no point did his opponent take an aggressive posture.

 

Not that 'Khebrem was entirely passive. The sangheili managed to take several opportunities to counter-strike at his opponent over the course of their practice duels. It seemed his school of swordplay favored waiting for the ideal moment to strike, trusting in the adversary's aggression and impatience to create an opening rather than making one himself.

 

Fred had to admit, the alien scholar made an impressive show of himself. He moved with a fluidity and grace he would not have expected from a bookworm. The extensive patience he showed in remaining on the defensive, despite Fred's repeated attempts to bait him into a trap, was commendable. The Spartan could easily imagine him becoming quite the skilled tactician if he had ever joined the military.

 

All of that said, there was never really any question as to who was going to win. Fred's augmentations and decades of experience were more than a match for whatever recreational practice 'Khebrem had indulged in. They engaged in several duels, Fred winning each, before deciding that enough practice had been had.

 

“Yours is an exceptional talent,” 'Khebrem said, breathing heavily. His upper mandibles were spread in what Fred recognized as a smile. The academic took a drink out of a water container before gesturing to Fred's energy blade. “What is the name of your sword, if I may ask?”

 

The Spartan tilted his head quizzically. “...I call it Wuffles the Wonder Knife,” he answered. The sangheili stared at him in confusion. “I'm joking. It doesn't have a name.”

 

“It has no name?” 'Khebrem replied, seeming shocked. Fred guessed he had just stumbled upon some aspect of sangheili culture that he was unfamiliar with.

 

“It's not an heirloom or anything,” Fred explained. “I only got it a few years ago. The technology's brand new for us, so I actually had to have a hand in the design myself.”

 

“That makes it all the more important!” the academic replied insistently. “This is among the first blades of a new age. It is unique, and carried by a warrior whose clan is renowned across light-years. If you have heirs, it is this weapon that will become a treasured relic. It _needs_ a name.” Fred stared at him blankly. 'Khebrem grew exasperated, saying, “All great blades deserve a name. Have you never heard a war ballad?”

 

A chuckle rose from the sidelines. One of the sangheili guards had apparently been eavesdropping on the conversation. “Our illustrious leader,” he said with barely concealed sarcasm, “has always been a close follower of songs and legends. He prefers them to real combat.” The condescension in his words was obvious, although not enough to warrant discipline.

 

'Khebrem simply snorted quietly in response. This must have been a perspective he was used to encountering in his own kind. Fred heard him mutter about there being 'less horror and bloodshed in my interests' as he walked off to resume his duties, nodding in respect to the Spartan before leaving him standing alone in the open area.

 

The energy blade continued to hum and glow in Fred's hand. He brought it up, examining it closely with a new eye. He struggled to come up with a name before one rose, fully formed, from his subconscious. One that would serve as a reminder of all the things that he had lost over the long decades, from family to simple emotions.

 

_The Doctor's Memory_

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Master Chief was staring at the crack in his visor.

 

Blue Team lacked the resources to replace the complex 'visor' that covered the majority of the front of his MJOLNIR helmet. A square sealant patch covered the break, preventing any loss of internal environmental control, but it couldn't conceal the mark. Thus, the Master Chief had found himself with a constant reminder of the man who had taken so much from him.

 

The Chief shook his head. Obsessing over this was what had led to the catastrophe at the slaver fortress. He needed to focus on more productive activities. He glanced around the sangheili compound, looking for something to occupy his attention as they waited for the preparations for the assault on Sunaion to be finalized.

 

A group of mismatched equipment crates caught his eye. The square, dark gray containers that were ubiquitous across human space were side-by-side with the burgundy, more rounded containers favored by the Arbiter's sangheili. A wave of frustration passed through the Chief. 'Khebrem's people were at it _again_.

 

The Chief was already dealing with enough emotional turmoil due to the fact that he had allowed the huragok to work with Fred in studying the Forerunner relics. He had been second-guessing his decision almost since the moment he made it. The exact reasons for doing what he did still eluded him, producing a palpable sense of frustration.

 

Enough was enough. It was time for the Spartan non-com to have a little chat with the civilian academic leader.

 

Scholar Cham 'Khebrem was, as usual, overseeing the study of ancient sangheili civilization. His assistants/students were cataloging and translating various texts and artifacts that they had found over the course of their expedition. It was likely their findings would keep the university busy for quite a while.

 

Seeing them at work, the Chief considered delaying his conversation with 'Khebrem. He remembered how much Dr. Halsey had hated being interrupted at work. The reminder of his mother sparked a deep pang of loss in the Spartan; that pain was still too fresh, too vivid.

 

John decided he didn't much care what the sangheili felt.

 

“Scholar 'Khebrem. We need to talk,” the Chief said. The sangheili in question looked up from his work. A look of mild annoyance, or what the Master Chief perceived to be such, passed over his alien features for a moment. The academic quickly rallied, gestured to his subordinates to continue working, and rose to accompany the human to a more private area.

 

“How may I assist you, Spartan?” 'Khebrem asked.

 

“We need to talk about the behavior of your subordinates,” the Master Chief said, cutting straight to the point. “Despite my requests to the contrary, they continue to attempt to engage my teammates and me in unnecessary interactions. Their efforts at needless conversation are becoming unacceptably disruptive. I would appreciate your rectifying this situation at the earliest possible time, Scholar.”

 

'Khebrem simply stared at the human for a moment. The Chief wished he was more familiar with sangheili facial expressions and body language. His experiences in the War made every movement seem filled with hostile intent. The translation software in his armor could only communicate so much. Finally, the sangheili spoke, his contemplation apparently complete.

 

“My apprentices have been inquiring primarily about human customs and culture, if I am not mistaken,” he explained. “They wish to come to a greater understanding of humanity. They also hope that you, in turn, will come to a greater understanding of the sangheili. Do you truly believe that such conversation is 'needless'?”

 

“That's beside the point,” the Master Chief replied, annoyed. “We aren't scholars. Nor are we ambassadors. We are soldiers. Our objective on this planet is to accomplish a military objective, not further diplomatic relations between our species.”

 

“I am afraid neither of us has much choice in the matter,” 'Khebrem replied, gently but firmly. “The sangheili people have not had much contact with humans outside of the Great War. Those who live upon Sanghelios are even further removed from your kind. Whether you like it or not, you are the representatives of your people as long as you are with us. Your actions will inform the opinions of all you come into contact with. Considering the high status of the individuals you tend to interact with, your actions could have a reaching and lasting impact.”

 

“What's wrong with just keeping to ourselves?” the Chief asked, frustrated. “Why can't we just stay separate? There's enough space for both of us. We can stay in our area, you can stay in yours, and we'll all be out of each others' way.”

 

“Mutual isolation leads to mutual ignorance,” 'Khebrem replied in what seemed suspiciously like a lecturing tone. “Why do you believe the Prophets' lies were able to convince so many in the time of the Old Covenant? Human beings are clearly not vermin, yet nearly all of my people accepted it as so. We accepted the War as valid when, if we were not so ignorant and blind, we would have seen it for the farce it was long before the Great Schism. Surely you have seen in this journey the similarities between our peoples. You and I are not as different as you may think.” He turned and gestured to several points around the camp. Fred was sparring with a sangheili warrior with energy blades, their enjoyment of physical competition clear in their movements. Kelly was pouring over the sangheili medical texts with one of 'Khebrem's apprentices, their thirst for knowledge driving them. Linda was customizing her new beam rifle with the expedition's quartermaster, the pair working with quiet professionalism. “If we are so similar, is peace not possible? Should we not pursue mutual understanding?” The Chief didn't reply. The academic pressed on. “Segregation has only ever lead to xenophobia and conflict. Why should this present situation be any different?”

 

The Spartan ground his teeth in frustration. “Peace is one thing,” he said insistently, “but co-existence? Do you really think that's possible, after all that's happened?”

 

'Khebrem stared the Master Chief straight in the eye. “I do. I refuse to believe it is not.”

 

The Chief tilted his head. The sheer, stubborn determination in the sangheili's words made him pause. This was an individual who absolutely, positively, refused to even consider giving up. He would pursue his objective until the bitter end. The fact that others insisted his goal was impossible seemed to only motivate him further. This was what he was going to do, probability and professional consensus be damned.

 

For the first time in his life, John felt like he actually _got_ a sangheili.

 

It was...rather disorienting.

 

“...I'll think about it,” the Chief replied. 'Khebrem spread his upper mandibles in a grin.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“And with this, I am done,” Vale said, using a small brush to apply a tiny amount of what she called 'mascara' to her own face.

 

Mahkee watched with curiosity. The human Vale had been showing her the intricacies of what their kind called 'makeup'. While not as overtly visible as her own people's war paint, it seemed every bit as laborious and time consuming. “Your females put on such markings daily?” she asked.

 

“Some do, but mostly civilians,” Vale replied. “There's no regulation demanding or forbidding it for warriors, so long as it's nothing too flashy.” She grinned cheerfully. “Those of us in the military that use it tend to restrict ourselves to just some foundation. There's never enough time for the more complicated designs in day-to-day operations.”

 

That made a bit of sense to Mahkee. Vale seemed like the sort who would enjoy customizing her appearance to fit her personality. “Does Spartan Tanaka ever use 'makeup'?”

 

The Spartan in question snorted from the rear of Osiris' quarters. She and Buck were playing some sort of game involving small rectangles of rigid paper with complex designs on one side. A gambling activity, probably. It seemed such games were another thing human and sangheili warriors had in common.

 

“Afraid our SAW gunner's a bit too butch for that sorta thing,” Buck said. Tanaka attempted to strike her comrade at this, the male warrior dodging with a chuckle. The fact that she didn't follow up with further assaults indicated to Mahkee that this was part of their camaraderie. The sangheili warrior reflected that the Spartans must share a close bond indeed for such jests to be considered acceptable amongst themselves.

 

“While I wouldn't have put it in quite those terms,” Vale said, using her facial features to give Buck what Mahkee interpreted as a _look_ , “Tanaka is indeed the sort to eschew makeup in general.” She turned back to Mahkee. “Really, even I tend to avoid it. I usually only pull out all the stops when I attend formal events.

 

Mahkee blinked. “I have a hard time picturing human formal events,” she admitted without thinking.

 

Given the way Vale looked at her, Mahkee guessed she had stuck her hoof in her mouth once again. The perceptive human had no doubt discerned the residual bigotry that had plagued her even after the Great Schism.

 

“Forgive me,” the sangheili said, bowing her head slightly in apology. “I meant no offense.”

 

“It's all right,” Vale said, moving her lower facial features in what Mahkee had come to recognize as a smile. “I understand.” Mahkee got the impression that the human genuinely did understand her. It was...odd. Vale continued, “my experience with formal events comes mostly from my father. He was a diplomat and brought me along on many of his journeys. This sort of thing runs in the family, I guess.”

 

_Family_ . 

 

The word reminded Mahkee of her own loss. It reminded her of her legacy. It reminded her of her cousin.

 

The emotions must have shown on her face, because Vale turned to her, a look Mahkee interpreted as concern on her features. “Is something wrong, Mahkee?” she asked.

 

For a moment, the sangheili pilot felt conflicted. She had not confided this part of her life with anyone. Not even what few female sangheili warriors she had met in the last 5 stellar cycles. Making herself vulnerable like this was something she had consciously avoided ever since her family had died.

 

Then again, she thought, she had entered battle beside the Spartans. They had bled and shed blood together. In a way, they had earned her trust as battle siblings. Besides, they were outsiders and would be leaving Sanghelios soon enough, so there was little danger of Mahkee's reputation being spoiled if they let what she said be known.

 

Mahkee decided it would be nice to confide in someone again.

 

“My family is a...complicated subject,” she explained. She took a seat on one of the bunks. Vale sat across from her, giving the pilot her undivided attention; she glanced at her fellow Spartans briefly. Mahkee waved away her concern. “Do not worry. They may hear if they wish.” Buck and Tanaka abandoned their game.

 

How to begin? “I lost my family in the Great Schism,” she explained. “The jiralhanae carried out their masters' will and butchered everyone I loved. Only a single cousin avoided the slaughter, but he is not a 'Chava and has since joined the Storm. I was the only one of my name to survive.” She was worried that one of the Spartans might interrupt with some sort of condolences. To her relief, they simply listened, allowing her to retain her dignity. She felt deeply grateful for that. Mahkee continued, steeling herself for this next revelation. “When we first met, Vale, you asked me about my heritage. You were correct: I am indeed descended from the Arbiter Fal 'Chavamee. The disgraced one, whose rebellion was made an example among my people. His shame was legend. I have made it my purpose to redeem my family's honor in the eyes of my people. That is why I fight.” Mahkee let out a sigh. The relief she felt from finally confiding in others was immeasurable.

 

“I don't get it,” Buck said, confused. “The Arbiter's folks know that the Prophets were manipulatin' them from the beginning, right? Shouldn't your ancestor's reputation be the opposite, now? Why ain't he a hero or somethin'?”

 

Mahkee chuckled cynically. “I have asked myself that very same question countless times over the last several stellar cycles. It seems some are determined to cling to their view of my ancestor, and his descendants, regardless of the shift in their view of the Prophets.”

 

“It's probably a type of projected guilt,” Vale said. Mahkee looked at her, cocking her head in confusion. The human explained, “Your people have broken from generations of cultural traditions. Regardless of their understanding of the Prophets' true agenda, there is most likely a part of them that feels guilty about abandoning the customs and ideologies that their ancestors followed for thousands of years. Clinging to the villainous perception of Fal 'Chavamee may be a subconscious push-back against the fall of the Old Ways. A kind of repressed cultural guilt.”

 

There was a silence as the assembled warriors attempted to process what the highly educated diplomat's daughter had just told them. The explanation seemed to make a kind of sense, when they thought about it. It was a complicated subject.

 

“So what you're sayin' is,” Buck offered, “Morons be morons. Right?”

 

They all burst into laughter. Vale glared playfully at her squadmate. For the first time in a long time, Mahkee felt like she was home.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Fireteam Osiris was socializing with an alien. Agent Locke watched, glowering, through the security feed he had tapped into. The room he was in was called a 'meditation hall'. It had several one-way windows lining the ceiling to provide a view of the sky, some local flora, and was soundproofed. It was supposed to provide a sense of peace and calm. Locke could find neither, even after locking the door to ensure privacy. He was away from his squad. He normally was, when they weren't on a mission. They tended not to get along with their commanding officer.

 

The current situation in Osiris' quarters was a good example of why.

 

Locke never thought he would see humans willingly spending time with a sangheili in a friendly environment. Let alone human soldiers. How could anyone tasked with defending the human race willingly chat with one of those...those animals?

 

Wait...were they _laughing_?!

 

Disgust and revulsion threatened to make Locke vomit. His subordinates were clearly growing far too close with their sangheili hosts. He could see it in their eyes: the growing empathy. The camaraderie.

 

Locke could _feel_ it growing. In them.

 

He, by contrast, was keeping things together. He was staying in perspective. They could get lost in their own sentimentality all they wanted. Locke knew the truth. He knew the natural order of things. He knew that all of life was conflict and that if humanity wanted to survive, they would have to dominate all challengers to their supremacy.

 

The compad continued to shine in his lap. The light made his eyes water as he examined his latest intel and the covert orders from ONI Command. They had been quite a shock, even considering the utter insanity of the last several months.

 

First, he had discovered that the UNSC had declared the Master Chief Killed in Action. All of human space had been stunned by the loss of its greatest hero. Vigils and ceremonies had been popping up on planets throughout the Inner and Outer colonies. Locke struggled to understand the move.

 

ONI Command knew that the Master Chief was, in all likelihood, still alive and active. Why would they declare him dead before the mission was actually accomplished? Were they so desperate to mitigate the damage that Blue Team's rebellion might cause that they hoped to pass off the Spartan IIs as impostors if they ever surfaced into the public eye?

 

It was a question that Locke's superiors clearly felt no obligation to answer. They hadn't even mentioned the move in their latest batch of covert orders for him. They probably hoped to keep him in the dark about it until the mission was complete. He certainly hadn't mentioned to them that he had continued gathering intel about the state of human affairs following his arrival on Sanghelios.

 

Secrets.

 

Locke was starting to get tired of secrets.

 

Surprising as that revelation may have been, it paled in comparison to his latest order. ONI Command had told him to do something even he would never have considered. Something that, if it went wrong, could spark a new war with the former Covenant races. Something that might prove disastrous even if it _didn't_ go wrong.

 

ONI had ordered Locke to kill the Arbiter.

 

He was to continue his current path until the Storm Covenant had been defeated and Fireteam Osiris was in a position to take possession of the Guardian. Once that had happened, Locke was to take the earliest opportunity to assassinate the Head of State of the Swords of Sanghelios.

 

It made sense. Once the Storm Covenant was destroyed, there would be no enemy keeping the sangheili occupied. ONI predictive models had always held that future hostilities with the sangheili were inevitable. War would come. It was a strategically sound to remove unifying military and political figures in advance.

 

The Swords of Sanghelios was simply too ambitious a movement. Its reforms and cultural changes were too extensive. The very idea of a unified sangheili people following the Great Schism had been ludicrous to begin with. Too much of the old power structure had been destroyed, leading to a sort of institutional anarchy. To say nothing of the rock-bottom national morale that had led a sizable portion of the population to become druggies and shiftless thugs.

 

The Arbiter had founded the Swords and kept it going through his own reputation and sheer force of will. He made himself the symbol and rallying point of sangheili unification and societal development. It was a remarkable achievement, Locke had to admit, but the sangheili leader had failed to effectively delegate or set up an effective line of succession. He was involved in every aspect of his nation, meaning that they would all be devastated and left drifting without his direction.

 

Without the Arbiter, the sangheili people would descend into chaos. Various leaders would claim the right to the throne and would wage a brutal civil war over it. The conservatives would fight to restore the theocratic and racist ways of the Old Covenant. The more progressive forces would push for the equality and liberty that the Arbiter seemed to favor. The next war of ideologies would be even more brutal due to its lack of unity. The sangheili would be pushed over the brink into total anarchy.

 

ONI would then be able to spin a UNSC military intervention as an act of charity and necessity. Humanity only wanted to stabilize the situation, they would say. It was only a temporary occupation, they would assure the critics. The ultimate goal would be to establish a stable democracy that could co-exist peacefully with humanity, they would insist through their talk show puppets and political stooges. All the while they would systematically set up the utter subjugation of the sangheili and the permanent conquest of all of their territories. From Locke's point of view, it should have been an ideal scenario. He should have felt triumphant about the plan.

 

Instead, all Locke felt was exhaustion.

 

The thought of dominating the aliens that had taken so much from him, from humanity, no longer brought him pleasure. Maybe it was the mounting exhaustion from his lack of sleep. Maybe it was disorientation from spending so much time fighting alongside supposedly 'friendly' sangheili. Maybe the years upon years of combat had finally driven him insane.

 

Whatever the cause, Locke was left staring up at the night sky, unable to sleep, unable to think, unable to figure out what the hell he was actually feeling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: We're moving into the home stretch, people. Next chapter begins the siege of Sunaion. The dominoes start to fall once again...
> 
> Note: The main growth that the characters of Blue Team undergo in this part of the story involves their relation to the sangheili. Most important are their evolving views on peace vs. co-existence. I tried to have each of the members of Blue Team have their own bonding moments with the sangheili over the course of the story, since that's more emotionally powerful than if I had just included the intellectual arguments 'Khebrem makes in this chapter.
> 
> Note: I hope Fred's self-reflection didn't come across as too angsty or out of nowhere. I want to depict the tragedy of the Spartans' lives and how that has affected each of them differently. John retreated into professionalism and letting others make the big choices for him. We see Halsey's death impact him more here because it broke through the shell he'd built up around himself. Linda developed a somewhat cold, stoic personality. Kelly focused on her surviving family and developed a bit of a hatred for the sangheili. Fred, on the other hand, developed a sense of humor to mask how emotionally numb he was becoming. This is pretty complex stuff to pull off. I'd greatly appreciate any feedback into how I'm doing with it. 
> 
> Note: Mahkee has become more of a window into my version of sangheili post-War culture than I imagined when I started this story. What do you guys think of it?
> 
> Note: In Halo canon, ONI has continued to meddle in the affairs of the sangheili post-War. This is a point of frustration among many fans who believe that keeping the Arbiter from establishing a stable society is counter-productive. My explanation has always been the one Locke describes here: ONI believes that future war with the sangheili is inevitable. They want the sangheili to be divided and fighting amongst themselves. That way, humanity would have a much better position when the peace ends. I disagree with this mindset strongly, as I am an idealist more in the line of 'Khebrem here, but it makes sense from ONI's warped and limited perspective. The fact that it keeps coming back to bite humanity in the ass is another reason I think they're full of crap.
> 
> Note: Yes, the title of this chapter is a pun. I couldn't resist :)
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	37. Ch 36 Breaching the Walls of Sunaion

Chapter 36: Breaching the Walls of Sunaion

 

The Pregnant Sea was abnormally quiet. The storm that had hidden the sun behind black clouds had cleared. The raging winds that had drowned out all noise had grown silent. It was only an illusion, of course. The city of Sunaion was merely in the eye of the cyclone. This particular time of peace, like all others, was but an illusion.

 

Jul 'Mdama was blind to its serenity, in any event. His eyes were riveted on the display of an oddly shaped and cumbersome dataslate. He was examining the files again. Those most special scrolls that only he would ever see. They were eminently useful, for they stoked the fire that burned within him. They renewed the anger, hate, and lust for revenge that fueled him at his core.

 

He examined them frequently.

 

A chime rang out. It seemed one of 'Mdama's aids was reporting in. The Didact's Hand sighed, shut down and carefully hid the dataslate, and rapidly consumed the last of his mid-day meal. He was the only one within Sunaion who enjoyed the privilege of frequent feedings. His mandibles pulled tight to his face as he grimaced. The loss of Kaidon 'Zama and his agricultural genius had harmed the Storm greatly.

 

The aid entered once 'Mdama unlocked the door. The bureaucrat moved slowly towards his leader and knelt before him, placing his head and both hands onto the floor in a respectful bow. “I report as commanded, oh most glorious Hand of the Didact.”

 

“Yes, yes, enough pleasantries,” 'Mdama snapped impatiently, blind to the fact that he had dismembered those who failed to show the proper ceremony before. “Present your report.”

 

The next hour was spent learning the latest goings on within Sunaion. It seemed that the unexpected survivors of the seaport were grumbling again. Not openly, of course, for fear of penalty, but the discontent was clear nonetheless. The supreme leader of the Storm Covenant bit back his frustration.

 

Originally, he had planned to order the seaport's defenders to fight to the last to delay the false-Arbiter and his heretical forces. While superior to those defending the capital, in combat record at least, those he had assigned to the seaport were not as loyal as the Honor Guard. They had begun to show signs of discontent with their rightful leader's decisions. As such, 'Mdama had planned to utilize the seaport as a means to eliminate malcontents. He had neglected to mention the nature of their defense until after they were under siege in an effort to minimize the probability of a revolt. His plan had been masterful.

 

The swift destruction of the Kraken had not been a part of that plan. 'Mdama had expected the titanic war machine to last for at least a few days. He was so confident, in fact, that he had decided not to interrupt his sleep schedule for it. Thus, when news of its destruction and the rapid assault upon the seaport reached Sunaion, it found him fast asleep. Those closest to the religious leader had proved unwilling to wake him. They had decided to leave it until the morning rather than risk being the recipients of his wrath. By the time he woke and learned of it, the battle was lost and there were many unwanted survivors taking up residence within the city.

 

The cowards who kept him ignorant were swiftly executed.

 

'Mdama suppressed a sigh as he reflected on the way things had changed. In the beginning of his movement, his followers would never have grumbled like the new arrivals to Sunaion. Nor would they have been so fearful of him that they would refrain from delivering vital information merely because he had been in a slumber.

 

So many things had changed over the cycles. In the beginning, 'Mdama had been a non-believer, or at least a skeptic. He had merely parroted the sacred words of scripture as a tool for uniting the sangheili under his rule. Even in the time before the Great Schism he had been dubtful of the Covenant's religion.

 

His faith had been found gradually. As the cycles went by and the war dragged on, the sangheili leader found the words of scripture an ever increasing source of reassurance and strength. The sermons he gave began to have more and more meaning for him personally. Eventually, he recognized the truth of his divine mandate and became utterly devoted toward the restoration of the Old Ways. His piety now fueled him.

 

Well...piety and rage. A growl emerged from his throat as he remembered those who had wronged him. Those wretched aliens who had enslaved him and tortured him. Who had born a very particular emblem.

 

The aid began trembling, mistaking the growl for being directed at him. 'Mdama barked at his subordinate to continue his briefing.

 

“O-of course, my liege,” the sangheili said deferentially. He continued for a while before coming to his last point. “It seems that the unggoy are still...voicing concerns over their current conditions. They claim that they are receiving inadequate food and rest. Their labors are falling behind.”

 

This time, 'Mdama's growl really was directed at his aid. “I grow weary of the rebelliousness of the lower races,” he said, his impatience clear in his voice. “Make an example of the unggoy's leaders. Throw them all into the sea. I have no patience for any more delays!”

 

The aid replied with more trembling and platitudes before bowing again and leaving the room. 'Mdama shook his head and decided to get some fresh air. He exited his quarters, a pair of Honor Guard following deferentially and protectively behind, and walked to the edge of the central pylon. The sangheili emperor gazed down into the depths of the Pregnant Sea. He imagined he could see the mighty weapon deep below. He imagined the wondrous things he would do once he harnessed this gift of the holy Forerunners.

 

The Didact's Hand spread his upper mandibles in a grin.

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Sunaion. The Capstone City. So named because of the ancient and terrible beast that, legends said, it kept imprisoned. It was a network of kilometers-tall spires of alien metal with hard-light platforms all but hanging off of the sides.

 

Locke suppressed another yawn as he examined the reconnaissance footage provided by the Swords fleet in orbit. He took a drink of his coffee and forced himself through his fatigue.

 

Sunaion. The Spartan didn't think he'd ever seen a less ideal place to wage a major battle. The size of the spires, or 'pylons', varied greatly. Some were several kilometers thick in diameter while others were less than 5 meters. The size and extent of their platforms were also varied. They and the translucent energy bridges connecting them were a maze. Enemy fire could come from above, below, or to the sides. The crowded Storm facilities, crammed into whatever space was available, would ensure the alien equivalent of house-to-house fighting for the duration of the engagement. Not to mention the lack of true outer walls, meaning there would be the perpetual danger of falling over the side into the deep waters below.

 

In the center of it all was the Central Pylon. It was by far the largest at over 5 kilometers in diameter. At its top was a structure that resembled an ancient ziggurat. Ramps along one of its exterior walls were the only visible way of ascending into the main area from the 'floor' of the lower platform. Fighting up those paths would be obscenely bloody.

 

Not to mention the fact that this was the Storm Covenant's last stand. There would be nowhere to go after this. Nowhere the Arbiter would be unable to easily conquer, anyway. Jul 'Mdama and his fanatical warriors would fight to the bitter end to deny ultimate victory to those they deemed 'heretics'.

 

The leader of said 'heretics', the Arbiter, gestured to one section of the holographic representation of Sunaion. “The ring anti-aircraft batteries will prove a substantial problem. Sea vessels will take too long, even excepting the submerged defenses the city will have in place. We must find a way to disable as many of the air defenses as possible before I lead the full assault.”

 

This was as much of a concession as the Arbiter would allow in regard to his own personal safety. It had been all his generals could do to convince the, admittedly martially talented, head of state not to be among the first to enter the city. Locke was starting to suspect that the sangheili leader was addicted to the thrill of combat.

 

The ball of dark matter in the pit of the ONI agent's gut made itself known once again. If there was ever a time to execute his orders and kill the Arbiter, it would be in the chaos of this battle. He might even be able to avoid any blame for it if he pulled it off correctly. His gut felt worse as he considered how to go about it.

 

“Once a breach has been made,” the Arbiter continued, oblivious to the Spartan's train of thought, “our forces will split into 2 groups. The first group will focus on further disabling the defensive ring to enable more extensive landings. The second will push toward the Central Pylon and secure it. As this is undoubtedly where the so-called prophet will be, its capture will signal the end of this current war.”

 

Locke moved forward and crossed his arms over his chest, his hands resting on opposite shoulders as he slightly bowed his head. He had learned from Vale the proper way of voicing an objection after last time.

 

“You have a concern, Spartan?” the Arbiter asked. The fact that none of the generals objected indicated to Locke that he had been successful in his effort at diplomacy. Small blessings.

 

“I am concerned about the fleets in orbit, Arbiter,” Locke said. “'Mdama has shown a willingness to break from tradition in the past. I know that Sanghelios is sacred ground but it is possible the Storm fleet, in their desperation, will break the taboo and attack with an orbital bombardment. Will we be prepared to counter such a move?”

 

The sangheili generals glanced among each other, evidently unhappy about the prospect. The Arbiter simply grinned. “Do not fear, Spartan. I have an...unconventional counter-move for just that possibility.”

 

Locke was about to ask what he meant when a sound pierced the walls of the command tent. His blood ran cold. He recognized the noise instantly. It was, after all, the one that had haunted his nightmares for months.

 

Blind to the other members of the tent, Locke rushed out and toward the edge of the encampment. He activated the zoom function on his helmet and utilized its positioning software to look directly at the far away city of Sunaion. Across the plains, seaport, and stormy ocean he could just make out the distant lights of the Forerunner installation. The sophisticated software in his helmet alerted him that a substantial wave had emanated from the facility like a giant ripple. Distantly, he heard the sangheili shouting orders to secure the seaport against the wave. He tuned them out.

 

They didn't have weeks or months anymore. They didn't even have days. Their timetable had been shortened to a matter of hours.

 

It was happening.

 

The Guardian would soon awaken.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The empty datachip felt heavy in the Master Chief's hand.

 

It was the only such device that Blue Team possessed. It's storage space and hardware capacity dwarfed that of a mere datacube. They had not used it yet but, if all went well, it would be the most important piece of gear they had.

 

It was the only storage device they had that was rated for Smart AIs.

 

The cold mercury feeling of Cortana interfacing with his neural implant echoed distantly in his skull. He had felt empty when he first separated from his digital companion; that feeling had never completely gone away. The Chief reflected on how much time he had spent with one of these chips plugged into his helmet. Compared to the entirety of his career, it was practically no time at all. A matter of months in a professional life spanning decades. Yet...it felt like so much more.

 

The time the Master Chief had spent with Cortana had been among the most eventful of his life. He had discovered the existence of the Forerunners, defeated the Covenant, and saved the galaxy. Cortana had been there for all of it. She had been an invaluable combat asset, ensuring victory where even the Spartans would have suffered defeat.

 

More than that, though, she was...special. The Chief had never mentioned it to his siblings but he considered Cortana an unofficial member of their family. He trusted her more than anyone other than his fellow Spartans. Only Dr. Halsey had come close, and even she suffered from being a civilian.

 

Now, Cortana was more important to the Master Chief than ever. She was his last hope for clarity of purpose. She was the only one he could trust to tell him who to fight, and why. She was the only one he could trust to tell him what to do.

 

The sounds of heavy footsteps and alien chirping drew the Chief away from his ruminations. It seemed Blue One and the huragok finally had something to report.

 

Fred and Reaches-Far-Quickly rounded the corner and approached the other members of Blue Team. Fred was carrying 2 pieces of the Forerunner equipment they had recovered from Meridian. Hopefully, that was good news. After the Arbiter told them about the imminent activation of the Guardian, the need to find an edge over 'Mdama's forces had increased exponentially. The Master Chief had ordered the team engineer to report whatever progress he had made that could be of immediate use.

 

Fred carefully set down the larger of the 2 objects, a bulky device the size of his own torso he had carried under his arm. He kept hold of the smaller one, which was about the size of a compad. Taking a second look, the Chief recognized the larger piece as the teleporter that he had used on Biko.

 

“We've managed to restore these pieces of equipment,” Blue One reported after exchanging salutes with the Chief. “Before you ask: yes, the teleporter is back online...to an extent.” Fred glanced at the huragok, who had taken to fiddling with one of Blue Team's toolkits. He decided to press on by himself. “I think we can manage 1 full party transit. Maybe 2 if we only send a couple of us. After that, there is a substantial risk of the device completely breaking down.”

 

“Breaking down?” the Chief asked.

 

“Yes, sir,” Fred responded. He paused in thought before continuing. “It's difficult to describe. In layman's terms, the strain of age and use has almost completely burned the thing out. It wouldn't last much longer in any case without substantial repairs. Maybe not even then. If we use it, we'll probably lose it.”

 

The Master Chief swore silently. Functional teleportation technology would provide an invaluable tactical edge against any adversary. Delivering the device to the UNSC in working order could change the course of human history.

 

Then again, so would failing to stop 'Mdama.

 

“We'll have to risk it,” the Chief decided. “With the Guardian starting to activate, we're out of time. Is a strike insertion into Sunaion viable?”

 

“I had a feeling you'd ask me that,” Fred chuckled. “That's where this baby comes in,” he said, gesturing to the compad-sized device. He waved a hand in front of it. A complex holographic display was suddenly projected from its surface. Fred 'touched' various parts of the hologram to manipulate it as he spoke. “From what we can tell this is basically the Forerunner equivalent of a universal remote. It seems to be designed to allow access to any Forerunner system. I—well, _we_ ” he said, a bit uncomfortable mentioning the contributions of the admittedly helpful alien currently floating obliviously off to the side. The Chief couldn't blame him; he felt the same way. Fred continued, “wrote some of our own programs that should allow us access to the city's systems. I have limited access to the city from here—just enough to get the teleporter to engage in handshake protocols with the city systems and triangulate a viable destination. We shouldn't materialize inside a wall or anything.”

 

“Can you have us sent to an unoccupied area?” Linda asked. “Any level of stealth we can add could prove invaluable.”

 

“I believe so,” Fred replied, flicking rapidly over the Forerunner compad. “I think I can access enough of the facility's systems to add that as a parameter. That would just about stretch my access to the limit, though. It's not that I don't have authorization—I literally don't understand most of what I'm looking at. Giving the system general commands and letting it figure out how to perform them on its own is as far as I can go without a lab and a few expendable grad students.”

 

The members of Blue Team shared a mild laugh as they remembered Dr. Halsey joking about such subjects. She had once claimed that said advanced students were worked so thoroughly that universities must order them in bulk. The laugh was short lived, as they all remembered that the good doctor was now gone. Fred rubbed the back of his neck in mild embarrassment. They refocused on the mission at hand.

 

“Anything else we should know?” the Master Chief asked.

 

“Yes, actually,” Fred replied. “The teleportation device doesn't have enough power for a full jump. We could tap into our suits, but without an AI to execute the process that would be risky. My expertise only extends so far. It would probably be best if we used the Lich's powerplant.”

 

“Agreed,” the Chief answered after a moment's consideration. “I'll talk to 'Khebrem and comm the Arbiter. Finish any preparations you have left, people. We move out ASAP.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The center of the encampment occupied the full attention of the entire expedition. The soldiers were on high alert, on guard for threats beyond and within the perimeter. The academics watched in fascination as ancient Forerunner technology was integrated with contemporary systems.

 

A set of thick cables connected the teleportation device to the Lich's powerplant. Ancient symbols glowed blue along the sides of the ancient machine, giving it an arcane aesthetic that no modern race could replicate. Fred tapped away furiously at his Forerunner compad. He was quintuple checking the commands that would send Blue Team into the heart of the enemy stronghold within the blink of an eye.

 

The Master Chief felt confused as he approached 'Khebrem. No matter what happened, the Spartans' time among the academic expedition had now come to its end. The members of the respective groups would likely never see each other again after this. He should have felt relieved that his time working alongside these aliens was finally coming to its end.

 

Instead, he felt a jumble of odd, unidentifiable emotions. It was almost like melancholy but the Chief couldn't believe that. What would he have to feel sad about?

 

The Chief reached the academic leader and stood a short distance from him. He found himself at a loss for words.

 

“I suppose this is farewell,” 'Khebrem said. The Spartan nodded in agreement. “Was your time among us enlightening?” This did not produce a nod. The Master Chief still wasn't sure what to make of what he had observed while in this unusual company. After a moment, the academic realized he wouldn't get a response at this time. “I suppose that is fair. I ask only that you meditate upon what we have discussed. I have not given up.” The sangheili spread his upper mandibles in a smile. “Not even upon you.”

 

The alien reached out his hand. The Spartan hesitated for a moment before making his decision.

 

John shook 'Khebrem's hand.

 

The goodbyes completed, Blue Lead moved to join his squadmates in the center of the encampment. Fred nodded to him; they were ready. The Spartans gathered close together.

 

With a flash of light, they were gone.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

After the flash passed and the spots faded from their eyes, the sangheili glanced at where the humans had just been. There was only an empty patch of ground. The Forerunner device lay off to the side, its runes dim, its form melted and ruined by the strain of the final performance of its duties. There would be no sending reinforcements by it.

 

Those present wished the departing warriors the best of fortunes.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Coming out of a teleport was always disorienting. The new surroundings, the flash of light, the... _experience_ of whatever happened to the physical form to enable transit. It all combined into a punch that would knock anyone off-balance for a minute.

 

For a Spartan that 'minute' only lasted a few fractions of a second.

 

Blue Team had its weapons up and their heads clear almost instantaneously. They were in a dark area surrounded by Storm equipment crates. It seemed the Forerunner systems had seen fit to dump them in a pre-fabricated storage closet. The Spartans secured the area. Finding no enemies present, they moved to exit the space and accomplish their objectives.

 

It only took a moment for Linda to hack the door controls and let them outside. The members of Blue Team found themselves looking up at a large, circular platform suspended a few meters above their heads. The deep purples and blues of the crates and other pre-fabricated Storm structures stood out starkly from the grays of the hard-light Forerunner platform. Daylight streamed in unhindered from the open sides.

 

Judging by the schematics Fred had accessed, they were on one of the lowest of a series of decks that extended dozens of meters above them. They were moving through what was effectively a series of sub-basements.

 

The sounds of heavy weapons fire echoed from above. Looking out over the side, the Spartans could see Swords of Sanghelios aircraft attempting to push through the defensive ring. Several of them were hit and incinerated as they watched.

 

The Master Chief motioned them forward. They had to find a way to disable the anti-air defenses in order for the Arbiter's forces to take the city.

 

Stealth was more difficult in Sunaion than it had been at the slaver fortress. There were no washouts or castoffs manning the defenses. Only hardened warriors. Numerous times the Spartans had to duck into cover or whatever pre-fabricated Storm building was available in order to avoid the regular patrols.

 

Linda, as always, proved to be invaluable. She swiftly hacked into the Storm's security network and used her skills to clear the way for them as best they could. She looped data into security feeds to cover their advance. She silenced alarm systems that would have given them away. She even sent a false order to move a patrol out of position when the Spartans' progress was unavoidably impeded.

 

The powerplant for the anti-air batteries was located several decks above them. Judging by the information Linda had gleaned from the network, the Chief had decided it would be the easiest target. They managed to ascend the ramps that connected each level without incident until there were only 2 decks between them and where they needed to be.

 

The Spartans hunkered down in a vacant Storm structure. It was a religious shrine, if the murals projected onto the walls were any indicator. Linda was furiously accessing the Storm security net. The network had been surprisingly robust so far. There were multiple layers of encryption, frequently changing codes, and numerous overlapping fields of coverage. It seemed that 'Mdama had finally learned the lessons the Spartans had worked so hard to impart over the course of the Human-Covenant War.

 

Security had been relatively light at the other ramps, at least in regard to live guards. This made sense. The Storm leadership had little reason to suspect an insertion here. However, this current area was fortified and heavily guarded. It seemed the more occupied levels were better defended. Linda was struggling to conjure a way to lure the guards away from their posts without attracting attention.

 

A loud, roaring noise pierced the walls of their enclosure. The Chief moved toward one of the viewports and snaked a fiberoptic probe into position.

 

The eye of the storm had moved on. The waters below and beyond the city limits were raging once again and heavy rainfall restricted visibility significantly. The flashes of weapons detonations and deaths of aircraft were the only aspects of the air battle that the Chief could see anymore.

 

The door to the back of the shrine turned from red to blue and, to the Chief's horror, slid open. A group of unggoy waddled in, apparently to get out of the rain. The sudden return of the storm must have temporarily confused his armor's motion trackers as he hadn't detected their approach. The alien patrol paused in shock as they saw the human supersoldiers.

 

The Spartans suffered no such hesitation. They gunned down the unggoy within seconds. The Chief could only pray that had gone unnoticed.

 

“A security alert just went out,” Linda commed, dashing his hopes. “They had life-sign monitors. They knew as soon as we dropped them.”

 

Yes, the Storm had definitely learned its lesson. 'Mdama was sparing no expense to keep his final refuge secure.

 

Their presence compromised, the Chief ordered Blue Team to attack the checkpoint directly. Heavy plasma fire raked the hard-light walls around them as they pushed forward at superhuman speeds. Linda eliminated the gunners with her trademark efficiency, dropping each of them with a single headshot from her beam rifle.

 

The Master Chief rushed up the ramp, firing his assault rifle on full auto. His augmented strength allowed him to easily compensate for the recoil and his own movement as he went. Several enemies fell to his rifle, the others forced into cover as he and Kelly sprinted up the ramp, their sniper pulling up the rear with Fred covering her. The remaining guards quickly fell to their combined fire.

 

The fighting grew increasingly thick the further they pushed. Linda was doing well in preventing the enemy from zeroing in on their position but there were only so many targets they could be going for. It didn't take the Storm long to figure out they were headed for the powerplants.

 

More and more Storm structures began crowding the platforms. Crates of anonymous supplies, spare parts and the like if the Chief was remembering the Storm's categorization properly, cluttered the platform. At one point they were forced to fight within a meter of the sheer edge.

 

The bottoms of their MJOLNIR boots were as high-tech as the rest of their equipment. As such, they did an admirable job gripping the wet deck. Unfortunately, there was only so much any equipment could do to compensate for the chaotic maneuvering required of combat. The Spartans had to take great care not to slide off the edge.

 

Of course, the poor conditions affected the enemy as much as it affected them. The Spartans made good use of the environment, often aiming their shots to force their enemy into movement that left them unsteady. A sangheili stumbled and struggled to regain its balance. The Chief grabbed a nearby piece of equipment and threw it at the alien warrior, knocking it over the edge and into the water below. Any shouts of terror were drowned out by the sounds of the storm and battle.

 

They were nearly at the last ramp when they ran into what felt like a wall of enemy fire.

 

Plasma shots melted cover and plasma grenades reduced entire crates to molten slag. The members of Blue Team kept up the attack. Scores of unggoy and tens of sangheili were dropped by their coordinated fire.

 

The Chief was in the process of reloading his rifle when his armor alerted him that a plasma grenade had landed on the other side of his cover. He dove to the side as the equipment crate was consumed in a spherical blast of blue plasma. Plasma shots immediately began peppering his shields.

 

The other members of Blue Team shifted their fire to cover their leader. The Chief sprinted to the next piece of cover. He barely made it before his shield broke. He hastily completed the reload and waited several seconds for his shield to recharge.

 

Unfortunately, as was so often the case, the Spartans were outnumbered. There was simply no way they could compensate for the overwhelming numbers and inferior tactical position. They were gradually forced to pull back until they found themselves cornered.

 

There were few actual Forerunner buildings upon the platform, but there were some. The members of Blue Team found themselves in a small cluster of what appeared to be empty sheds. The abstract architecture provided bizarre outcroppings that made adequate cover in the dead-end alley they found themselves. Things were not looking good.

 

“Blue One, do you have anything?” the Chief commed, ducking behind cover to reload his rifle once again.

 

“Negative, Blue Lead,” Fred replied. He had ducked into one of the 'sheds' to try accessing the pylon directly through his Forerunner compad. “I've managed to expand my access to include the power systems but there don't seem to be any functions that would provide an advantage.”

 

“Can you cut power to the AA batteries?” the Chief asked. It wouldn't qualify as completing the objective, as the Storm could potentially find a way to turn them back on, but it was certainly better than nothing.

 

“Negative, sir,” Fred commed. “The Storm must have set up their own independent power grid. I'll keep looking.”

 

The Master Chief took a few seconds to think. They weren't going to last much longer here. He thought of several options, eventually deciding on the least insane one.

 

“Blue One, can you cut power to our platform?” he asked.

 

“Standby,” came the response. What felt like an eternity passed before Fred continued. “I can't isolate any single platform and cut the power to it and only it. If I kill power to one, it'll start a process that will eventually take the whole pylon offline.”

 

“Meaning all of the platforms will disappear?” the Chief pressed. Kelly and Linda both ducked behind their own respective covers as the incoming fire increased. Their position was being swarmed. Once again, they were out of time.

 

“Affirmative,” Blue One replied. “The targeted platform will deactivate. The rest of the platforms will deactivate as well within a few minutes. Everything without a gravity drive will fall into the ocean. It will only affect this pylon, though, and none of the city's other functions will be affected.”

 

The Master Chief grinned behind his helmet. The top of the pylon was rounded and extended far beyond the highest platform, which precluded its use for Storm equipment. The AA batteries would fall right into the sea if the platforms were deactivated. “Turn off the power to our current deck on my command. Copy?”

 

“Affirmative, sir,” Fred replied without hesitation, no confusion or doubt in his voice.

 

“Blue Team, prepare for a drop,” the Chief commed. He pulled up a schematic of the deck layout below them; his armor had been automatically compiling a map as they went. He compared the readout to his own mental map and nodded at the confirmation. The area directly below them was relatively clear. He opened a comm to his team. “Blue Team, the nearest neighboring pylon is 45º clockwise from here. Roll with the fall, sprint into position, and go across. Copy?” Blue acknowledgment lights winked in response. The members of Blue Team all stowed their weapons in preparation for the flight. “Blue One, execute.”

 

For several moments, nothing happened. Plasma shots continued to fill the air around their cover. The Spartans' motion trackers recorded scores of additional hostiles closing in.

 

The deck beneath their feet seemed to shimmer. Its entire surface was suddenly underlined by a grid of white lines and the artificial textures faded.

 

The deck disappeared.

 

Time slowed as the Master Chief's augmented reflexes went into overdrive. The hostiles' shouts of surprise/terror were drawn out into long roars, comparable to a slowed down audio recording. The Chief tuned them out. He focused on the rough landing he was about to take.

 

The ton-heavy human supersoldier slammed into the deck. Grids of light reached out from the impact point like cracks as the hard-light deck reacted to his landing. His armor's shields were drained and fell in an instant from the sheer force of the impact. The Chief's legs screamed in pain even as he rolled with the fall and channeled his momentum into a dead sprint. He ignored the discomfort with practiced ease.

 

The MJOLNIR helmet automatically filtered out all sound as the pieces of Storm equipment and personnel crashed down around them. The only sound the Chief could hear were his own breath and heartbeat as he pushed himself to escape the soon-to-be vanishing structure.

 

Sporadic enemy fire occasionally lanced out at them. Fortunately, most of the enemy was still too shocked or injured to respond. Plasma shots impacted the various crates and structures as the Spartans vaulted over or around them in their race to the next pylon.

 

By sheer luck some enemy fire struck a piece of rectangular Storm gear that had landed on its small end. The Chief was forced to dive out of the way to avoid being crushed. It only took him a second to regain his footing but that still left him dozens of meters behind his squadmates.

 

Kelly, naturally, was the first to reach the edge and cross the energy bridge to relative safety. She drew her assault rifle and secured the area. Linda arrived moments after. She drew her beam rifle and turned back to cover the other Spartans' retreat. Her weapon pulsed several beams of lethal energy as she eliminated potential threats. Fred reached them shortly after.

 

The Master Chief was still tens of meters away when he noticed the deck start to shimmer and turn into a grid. Realizing he was out of time, he leaped onto a nearby crate.

 

The deck disappeared. Along with the ceiling. Time slowed to a crawl.

 

The Spartan tensed his augmented legs and leaped to another crate.

 

One closer to the neighboring pylon.

 

His mind raced as it plotted a 'path' to his destination. He leaped from crate to shed to arms locker. The now-vanished platforms above provided a steady stream of stepping stones to compensate for his falling altitude.

 

Calculations were performed with superhuman speed to determine the exact amount of force and the exact trajectory necessary to accomplish his objective. Each movement was executed with precision enabled by his subconscious, fed by decades of experience.

 

The Spartan's weight meant he was heavier than many of the objects he was landing on and leaping from. That made it easier to gain purchase, but also meant he was falling faster. Another variable in his calculations.

 

The falling rain hindered his grip. The heavy winds affected his trajectory mid-flight. More variables. They didn't stop him.

 

He landed on a stationary gun emplacement. A sangheili gunner sat within, gripping the controls with white-knuckles. The Spartan distantly noted terror in its eyes in the fraction of a second before his next leap shoved the whole unit downward at high velocity.

 

An anti-air battery provided the last stepping stone. Any triumph at his accomplished objective was buried beyond notice by the Spartan's absolute focus on reaching his destination. Upon landing he 'sprinted' along the massive barrel of the weapon before leaping 15 meters high and 10 across to land upon the stable platform.

 

The Master Chief ended his journey with a roll that found him on his feet with his weapon drawn.

 

The rest of Blue Team maintained discipline. There were no signs of shock or surprise at his survival. After all of the time they'd spent fighting together, they had grown accustomed to him pulling stunts like this.

 

“Guess that hopscotch experience paid off,” the Chief quipped, his heart still beating in his ears. He steadied his breath with an effort.

 

“Yes, sir,” Blue One replied, deadpan. “Seems we've accomplished our objective,” he said, gesturing to the waters beneath the now-vacant pylon. All of the Storm equipment, as well as its personnel, had fallen into the sea and sank beneath the waves. The Forerunner structure was now a blank metal spire hanging in the air.

 

The pylon abruptly fell into the sea. It smashed into the water and disappeared beneath the waves like a peg driven by an enormous, invisible hammer. The signs of its impact were promptly buried by the raging waters.

 

“I noticed a lot of vehicles falling as you made your way over,” Linda commented. “Everything from Phantoms to Banshees. I think that pylon may have doubled as an airfield.”

 

“Two-for-one, can't beat that,” Fred added. Perhaps he didn't want the Chief to get the last quip in.

 

“Move out, Blue Team,” the Chief commed, deciding they'd wasted enough time. They had to go to ground now and prepare for the Arbiter's forces to make landfall. This was almost over.

 

A deep, malevolent song rang out. It was so loud it even overwhelmed the noise of battle. The Spartans' MJOLNIR helmets automatically shut out all sound, but it could still be felt in their bones. The Guardian song.

 

They were running out of time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Sorry about the delay. I decided to take my time outlining the last few chapters in this story to make sure I set everything up properly. I usually don't plan out the details of future chapters as much as I did this and the following 2. This allows me to alter my story if I have new ideas as well as post more frequently, but it also means I'm basically flying by the seat of my pants in a lot of ways. I'm pretty bad at thinking ahead in general, so this is probably an extension of that. It's something I need to work on.
> 
> Note: The intro was inspired by objections that some readers made about my depiction of Jul 'Mdama earlier in this story. Apparently in canon he is actually an atheist who is just using religion as a means to gain supporters and forge his new empire. I decided to try to reconcile the disparity here by making it so he started out as he is in canon, but eventually started to believe his own propaganda. I think that this is rather common in real life. After all, you can only tell a lie so often for so long before you start to believe it yourself. 
> 
> Note: 'Mdama being asleep at the time of the seaport battle is based on the story of how Hitler slept through a rather important surprise attack by the Allies. One of the problems with a narcissistic tyrant is that those beneath them tend to be justifiably terrified of displeasing him. This has lead to the downfall of more than one such leader. It's also the reason why people who pull a Darth Vader and execute underlings who displease them tend not to be the most successful sort, at least in the long term. 
> 
> Note: The part with the Chief jumping from falling debris to falling debris was inspired by a part near the end of the book Crysis: Legion. It's the novelization of Crysis 2, written by sci-fi author Peter Watts. I highly recommend it as not just a good adaptation but as a stellar piece of science fiction in general. It's surprisingly hard sci-fi, although it's not too surprising when you consider the author's background in real science. The alien that tried the jumping trick wasn't as successful as the Chief is here, though :P
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	38. Ch 37 The Fall of Jul 'Mdama

Chapter 37: The Fall of Jul 'Mdama

 

Agent Locke was trying to keep his hands from shaking.

 

There were multiple possible explanations for why his limbs were acting up. It could be from the rather bumpy ride. Skilled as Mahkee was, the raging cyclone and occasional anti-air fire guaranteed a less than smooth journey to the city of Sunaion. It could be the stims he had taken to stave off his exhaustion. He was getting dangerously close to the safe limit for frequency and duration of stimulant abuse. It could even be his nerves. He doubted that last one, both for egotistical reasons and because he had never suffered from such attacks in previous engagements.

 

Locke tried to convince himself that it wouldn't matter. Whatever the cause, the focus and adrenaline of battle would suppress any jitters and steady his hand. He tried to distract himself by thinking of the fight ahead.

 

Fireteam Osiris was once again being flown by Mahkee into battle. This time they were headed toward Sunaion, the final refuge of the Storm Covenant. The infiltration team had already punched a hole in the AA network. Locke bit back a grimace. He had a suspicion as to who exactly was a part of this 'advance force'. The fact that the Arbiter insisted it was simply a group of elite sangheili warriors containing no one he would recognize only supported the ONI Agent's conclusion.

 

If he was right, everything was coming together in this one place and time. The Guardians, Blue Team, the Arbiter...everything that Locke needed to complete his mission.

 

Not to mention the death of the Storm Covenant.

 

The grimace transformed into a smile on Locke's face. Whatever else happened today, he would take comfort in the fact that this group of genocidal freaks would no longer be a threat to humanity. His features set into stone as he remembered all of the crimes the Storm were guilty of.

 

He thought about his old leader, Sgt. Augustus Murphy.

 

He thought about the slaughters he had seen, in person and in report, committed against human populations.

 

He thought about how far humanity might have progressed had it not been hindered by this cult of religious lunatics whose leader had delusions of godhood.

 

Oh, yes. Locke would enjoy this.

 

The only real downside was that it would not be humanity that delivered the killing stroke. The Spartan had always assumed it would be humans that finally ended 'Mdama's miserable life. The fact that it was another group of aliens doing it didn't sit well with him.

 

The fact that Locke would have to assassinate the leader of said aliens sat even worse.

 

The ONI Agent was pulled from his ruminations by the interior lighting of the dropship changing from blue to scarlet. They were approaching the LZ.

 

“Osiris, assume position,” Locke ordered. The other members of his fireteam moved toward the circular hatch set in the center of the compartment's floor. The human soldiers grabbed the handholds lining the ceiling. The Phantom pulled to a stop and the interior lighting switched from scarlet to yellow. “Deploy! Deploy!” Locke ordered.

 

Tanaka was, naturally, the first to step into the grav lift. Her armor and shields would protect her during the brief journey to the surface of the hard-light platform. Locke stepped in next, followed by Buck, and finally Vale.

 

Weapons fire filled the air surrounding the platform. The storm clouds above were illuminated by the flashes of exploding vehicles and equipment. The cylindrical pylon itself rushed by as the human soldiers passed the bare peak of the Forerunner construct. The disc-shaped platform of hard-light seemed almost to be alive as the Arbiter's soldiers descended onto it surface and 'Mdama's forces moved to repel them. The Spartans each had their shields flare as weapons fire impacted them on the way down.

 

Friendly Banshees and Phantoms began strafing the enemy positions, pinning them behind cover. Locke was grateful. He didn't fancy the idea of their transport being shot down while Osiris was still making their descent.

 

At last, they made landfall. The Spartans joined the sangheili and unggoy warriors in clearing the LZ for additional landings. They secured the surface relatively quickly.

 

A small force of Swords engineers, composed of unggoy, sangheili, and even the occasional huragok, moved to disable various access points leading to hostile pylons. There was no time to clear each occupied pylon completely. The best they could do was seal off everywhere they couldn't rapidly secure and deal with the stragglers after 'Mdama had been taken down.

 

Osiris moved to cover the engineers at one of the access points. A ramp of translucent blue energy connected the surface deck with the one immediately beneath. Enemy fire reached up toward them as the Storm forces below rushed to engage the invaders.

 

The Spartans crouched behind the hard-light banisters lining the opening. Their cover began glowing as enemy fire impacted them and steam rose as the rainwater was flash-boiled by the plasma shots. Hostiles began massing for a charge upward that could overwhelm the newly arrived invaders.

 

Two Swords unggoy gunners moved toward to the upper entrance of the ramp itself. Each was protected by a pair of their brethren wielding circular kig-yar energy barriers. Enemy fire bounced off the shields as they moved into position. The gunners laid down a pair of heavy plasma turrets. Locke was impressed by the strength of the diminutive aliens as the heavy guns were nearly as big as they were. The weapon mounts emitted a blue glow as their gravity drives activated and held the turrets aloft.

 

The deployment process was finished within seconds. The unggoy shield-bearers moved out of the way and the gunners opened up just in time to meet the infantry surge. A mass of hostile warriors ran up the ramp, hoping to overwhelm the Swords force above.

 

The heavy guns tore them to shreds.

 

The advance was slowed as the survivors attempted to move over or around their fallen allies. Osiris and the other Swords infantry added their fire to the effort and soon the hostiles were forced to fall back.

 

Abruptly, the ramp blinked out of existence. Dozens of smoking corpses fell to the deck below as their physical support vanished. The carnage below was only visible for a moment before a fresh piece of hard-light deck popped into place where the opening had been. It looked for all the world like there had never been an entrance there to begin with.

 

Locke nodded in approval to the engineers before motioning the rest of his squad to move out. Once the initial pylon had been sealed off, the engineers would switch to completely cutting off the hostile pylons from the rest of the network. Sealing entrances to the lower levels would mean little once the enemy had moved to other areas of the city and reached the surface deck from there.

 

The center of the LZ was buzzing with activity by the time Osiris reached it. Customized Spirit dropships deployed fortification equipment to solidify their control over the beachhead. Energy barricades and heavy turrets were set up. Anti-air turrets, smaller and more portable than the Tyrants, were deployed. The Arbiter wanted to ensure complete air supremacy once the Storm AA net was taken down.

 

_Speak of the devil,_ Locke thought as he saw  the Arbiter's personal Phantom fly into view. The heavily armored vehicle came to a stop in the center of the LZ and Swords of Sanghelios Honor Guard descended in advance of their leader. The Arbiter himself descended not long after. He was once again wearing his silver and black armor.

 

“Swords of Sanghelios,” the Arbiter shouted, broadcasting across the Swords comm net. “Today we shall bring an end to the Covenant and the lies they have sown. Today we ensure that the course of our history will lead to prosperity and strength for all who live beneath our banner. Today is the day of our greatest triumph.” The head of state activated his energy sword and held it above his head as he shouted. “For Sanghelios! For our future!”

 

A battle-cry rang out as the Swords forces answered their leader. Warriors rushed to and fro, their morale boosted through the roof. Locke had to admit: the guy knew how to pump his people up.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The push to the Central Pylon was a time-consuming slog.

 

Ambush after ambush.

 

Checkpoint after checkpoint.

 

Counterattack after counterattack.

 

On and on it went, the hostile fanatics usually refusing to fall back.

 

When they did, it was always in preparation of another ambush.

 

The city around Locke transformed into a world of multi-colored weapons fire, dead aliens, and exploding equipment. Everywhere he looked he was confronted by scores of corpses. Many of the smoldering bodies gave off steam of their own as the rainwater hit them.

 

Locke felt as if he was firing his rifle in a continuous stream as he and his allies pushed toward their objective. The surface deck was less crowded with Storm equipment and prefab buildings than the lower decks appeared to be, but there were still enough of them to give the Swords forces major headaches.

 

Despite the losses, the Arbiter's warriors pushed forward. Their passion was not smothered by the sight of their dead and maimed comrades. Each of them was eager to impress their great leader as he fired his weapon right alongside them.

 

There were more unggoy here than at the slaver fortress. Locke noticed that the diminutive cannon fodder became particularly vicious when engaging each other.

 

“Heretics!” the Storm unggoy accused.

 

“Pawns!” the Swords unggoy fired back.

 

“Traitors!” the Storm riposted.

 

“Lackeys!” came the Swords' reply.

 

The animosity extended beyond mere words, too. Locke saw more than one instance of an unggoy ripping off the face mask of one of its cousins or cutting their air hoses, leaving them to suffocate in the Earth-like atmosphere. The gasping shrieks of the dying grunts could occasionally be heard over the sounds of battle.

 

Fireteam Osiris occasionally helped secure the entrances to the lower decks or the bridges to other platforms that didn't house AA positions. Mostly, though, they pressed toward the Central Pylon. It was vitally important that they eliminate 'Mdama and the Storm leadership before the Guardian fully activated. It was almost more important to the ONI Agent than his secret motive.

 

Locke needed to find the Master Chief. He needed his answers. He needed to know who was responsible for the destruction of Meridian.

 

Eventually, the Swords forward assault force ran into a bottleneck. Forerunner walls of indeterminate purpose barred most of the way forward. The gap between was nearly blocked by what appeared to be prefab warehouses. There were no visible doors within view. A small group of sangheili was sent through to scout the situation.

 

Weapons fire rained down from the roofs above and from the the other side of the alley. The scouts were cut down in seconds. The rest of the invasion force crouched lower in their cover and returned fire.

 

“Spartans,” the Arbiter said over the comms. “You must ascend the right domicile and remove the enemy forces there. My warriors will suppress those on the left structure. Do you heed?”

 

Internally, Locke chafed at being ordered by a sangheili. As he had at the slaver fortress, he didn't let his emotions force him to do something stupid. “We copy, Arbiter. Moving to position.” The Spartan commed Buck and Vale to move forward as he and the sangheili provided suppressing fire on both warehouses. Once they were in position, the Arbiter gave the order.

 

Suppressing fire on the right warehouse roof ceased. Vale and Buck leaped upward, their augmented strength and thrusters enabling them to jump the 10 meters straight up. Locke, Tanaka, and the Swords shifted their fire to the left warehouse. Plasma grenades arced toward the warehouse roof. The sounds of gunfire sounded out from above as the 2 Spartans engaged the enemy.

 

Within minutes, the all-clear signal came from the roof.

 

“Swords of Sanghelios, move forward!” the Arbiter shouted. As per his orders, Tanaka deployed her energy barrier and moved straight down the center of the bottleneck, firing her SAW around her mobile cover as she went. Sangheili carrying kig-yar energy shields covered the sides.

 

Enemy fire bounced off of the energy shields. The barriers began to shine brighter, the plasma shots bringing them closer to failing. Swords warriors fired back over and around the mobile cover, chucking grenades at the enemy as they went.

 

The resistance soon broke and the Storm warriors fell back. The invaders continued their push forward, wary for the next ambush.

 

They hit it in less than five minutes.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Finally, after what felt like days of non-stop combat, the Swords invasion force reached the base of the Central Pylon. Unfortunately, they found it heavily fortified.

 

Enemy fire, both from heavy weapons and small arms, rained down from the upper level of the Forerunner ziggurat. Multiple attempts were made by Swords units to push through the resistance. Infantry provided suppressing fire, portable turrets spat plasma shots in rapid succession, sangheili and unggoy advanced in solid formations. All resulted in failure—and the complete loss of said formations.

 

A Phantom and 2 Spirits flew in low over the city. They rose as they approached the ziggurat, preparing to suppress the enemy and deploy troops.

 

They were maybe half-way to their destination when they were targeted.

 

A swarm of green fuel rod shots and blindingly bright Tyrant rounds rose into the air. The Phantom dodged as best it could, but there were simply too many. The gunship/dropship was consumed in a blinding blue-white flash before it got within range of its target.

 

The Spirits fared better, their stronger energy shields and even stronger hulls standing up to repeated fuel rod hits. They were not strong enough to survive the Tyrants. They were shot down within seconds of the Phantom's demise.

 

The AA network was still online. There were no Tyrants in the Central Pylon, thank Christ, but there were on the pylons elsewhere in the city that were prioritizing the defense of their great leader's final sanctuary.

 

The only way forward seemed to be burying the enemy under piles of Swords dead. Normally, Locke would be just fine with that. The more dead sangheili, the happier he tended to be. Now, however, he was in a bit of a rush. The Joe Stalin approach was taking far too long.

 

Reinforcements were slow in coming. The remaining pylons had yet to be secured and Storm forces were able to counterattack with alarming frequency. The forward assault force had to divide its attention between attacking the ziggurat and guarding their six.

 

The Guardian song rang out again.

 

Soldiers hunkered down as a blast of air rushed outward from the center of the city. Weapons fire died down momentarily as all combatants felt the otherworldly sound deep in their bones.

 

The reprieve only lasted a few seconds. Both sides were back at it in no time.

 

Locke bit back a growl of frustration. The only way they would take the Central Pylon within the day was with air support, which would require the AA net to be disabled, which would require securing or at least disabling numerous other pylons, each of which would be a slog of its own, and all the while 'Mdama and company would be toiling away trying to end the world as they knew it. The Spartan crouched back behind cover as the enemy poured plasma fire onto his position. His shield crackled as it filled back to a full charge.

 

There had to be a solution. They needed to get over the wall. Going up the ramps or the sides was suicide. There were no lower decks to access—unlike the rest of the city, all of the Central Pylon's structures were above 'surface' level.

 

_Surface..._

 

An idea popped into Locke's head. One based on the small, aquatic submersibles that ODST units would sometimes use for covert deployments. The Arbiter was a short distance away, shouting commands to his troops while firing away from behind his own cover. Locke made his way over to him and made his proposal.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The pylon's surface was quiet. Sounds of battle reached them from every direction, but the area they were in was relatively peaceful. Locke knew that was purely due to the lack of strategic objectives there. After all, that was why he had selected it and marched his fireteam halfway back toward the city perimeter to reach it.

 

Their surroundings were littered with corpses. Leftovers from when the assault force had moved through there on its way to the Central Pylon. Sangheili were posed in unnatural positions, their limbs contorted from rigor mortis and the agony of the plasma burns that had taken their lives.

 

Unggoy bodies leaked methane from ruptured breathing apparatuses. Dismemberment was more common among them, the meter-tall race's limbs being substantially thinner than their sangheili commanders. Everywhere the Spartans looked, the gray of the hard-light deck was stained blue with alien blood.

 

Fortunately, the MJOLNIR armor filtered out the stench of decaying corpses. They'd be rather uncomfortable otherwise.

 

A voice came onto the comms. “Hail, Spartans. This is Pilot 'Chava. I am nearing your position.”

 

“Osiris Lead, I copy,” Locke commed in response. “It's good to hear from you again, Mahkee.” It had only been hours since the pilot had dropped them off, but it felt like years. Locke tried not to think about what he had just said, and what it implied about his mental state, as the Phantom flew into view alongside the edge of the platform. It was perilously close to scraping the top of the uppermost deck in its effort to stay below the range of the AA net.

 

The starboard hatch opened to allow them entry. They were too close to the active AA network to risk rising high enough to use the ventral grav lift. The Spartans took a moment to restock their dwindling ammo supply as well as give their armor and equipment a quick once-over for damage.

 

“I presume you have another mad plan?” Mahkee all but chuckled over the comms. “The scribe relaying orders was not forthcoming with details and I doubt you called me in to chat.”

 

“That's affirmative,” Locke replied. He laid out his plan to the pilot. Although even he had to admit that calling it a 'plan' might have been overstating things.

 

Mahkee burst out laughing once he was done. Locke supposed he couldn't blame her. Still, having an alien laugh at him wasn't something he could just take sitting down. “Is that a no?” he asked, challenge clear in his voice.

 

“Of course not!” Mahkee replied. “I was merely reflecting on how boring my duties had been before I started working with Spartans. I see now why the Arbiter holds you in such high regard.” Her tone shifted, taking on a kind of feral anticipation. “I believe the human expression is, 'buckle up'.” The Spartans glanced at each other and swiftly sat down. The seats emitted a blue glow as the gravity restraints activated. Locke accessed the dropship's exterior video feeds, unable to stand not being able to see what was happening. The Phantom abruptly decreased altitude until it was lower than the topmost deck.

 

Then Mahkee gunned the acceleration.

 

The journey through the maze of pylons and platforms redefined the term 'bumpy ride' for Locke. Mahkee weaved back and forth, evading the smaller pylons and curving around the larger ones. The energy bridges and hard-light platforms of varying sizes provided a continuous stream of obstacles. The 'city' was set up in a configuration that no sane architect would ever devise. The alien layout made for an alternatively fascinating, disturbing, and in this case, terrifying experience.

 

Mahkee weaved through all of it with a dancers grace, often passing _between_ the decks of a single pylon while barely slowing down. Any Storm forces within range didn't have the chance to even notice her before she had soared past them at high speeds.

 

The reactions of the members of Fireteam Osiris were mixed. Tanaka whooped in excitement like a kid on a rollercoaster. Vale gripped her seat so tightly the metal started to warp; Locke could imagine her knuckles going white beneath her gauntlets. Buck simply sat there, completely unperturbed; the veteran must have gotten used to rough drops in his time as an ODST. Locke himself was just glad he wasn't tired anymore.

 

The squadleader turned his attention back to the video feed just in time to see the Phantom approach a narrow gap between 2 hard-light walls. They were between decks once again and Mahkee was flying their transport toward an opening that it couldn't possibly fit through. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, even though he knew full well that there was no way he could prevent the coming crash in time.

 

Mere seconds before impact Mahkee tilted the Phantom completely on its starboard side. Locke fought for control of his stomach as the direction of gravity radically shifted.

 

The Phantom passed through the gap with less than a meter to spare on either side.

 

Gravity returned to normal as their dropship evened out. Before Locke could even take a breath, their pilot sent a signal notifying them of their imminent arrival at their destination. He looked at the feed again and saw the Central Pylon approaching rapidly.

 

Mahkee tilted the Phantom again, this time with the rear facing downward. Mahkee gunned the acceleration once again, turning their forward momentum into an upward arc.

 

The dropship cleared the 'surface' level and arced over the walls of the ziggurat. The AA defenses didn't have time to target them before Mahkee slammed on the ventral acceleration and brought them down to a few meters above the interior deck of their target. The Spartans were wrenched around, the gravity restraints of their seats barely keeping them contained. Locke felt like he might have whiplash. Still, at least they'd made it.

 

An explosion rocked the side of the Phantom.

 

There must have been hand-held fuel rod guns on the ground. More blasts shook their ride. The interior wall crashed inward as the armor failed and the dropship veered to the side, either from desperate evasion or system malfunction, Locke couldn't tell. The Phantom smashed into a wall before losing flight and falling to the deck below. The troop compartment was crushed to %75 of its initial size and the power failed, dropping the Spartans to what was left of the deck.

 

The members of Fireteam Osiris picked themselves up and moved toward the gaping hole in the side of the Phantom. They could see movement in the distance. Glancing back, Locke saw that the door to the cockpit was damaged. He opened a comm channel. “Pilot Mahkee, status!”

 

There was no response. “Osiris Two, check on her.” Vale nodded and moved toward the cockpit. Finding the door inoperable, The burgundy-armored Spartan stowed her rifle on her back and used her augmented strength pry it open.

 

Locke turned back to the jagged opening in their transport's hull. He knew they had only seconds before they were swarmed. “Osiris Three, engage cloak and—”

 

Enemy fire poured into the dropship. Locke motioned Osiris One forward. Tanaka activated her energy barrier and blocked the opening. “Osiris Three, prepare to engage cloak. Osiris One and I will draw their fire.” Buck nodded in confirmation. If they didn't divert enemy fire first, the stealth expert would be cut down by stray shots before he got a few meters. Locke looked back toward the cockpit. “Osiris Two, status?”

 

“Our pilot's alive, sir,” Vale replied. “She took a bit of a one-two punch from the extreme maneuvers and the crash, but she should be okay in a minute.”

 

“We don't have a minute,” Locke replied firmly. “Leave her where she is. The enemy will focus on us anyway, so she should be safe for now. Copy?”

 

“Affirmative, sir,” came the terse reply. Vale re-entered the troop compartment. Locke could tell she didn't like leaving an injured comrade alone—it still irked him a bit that his subordinates considered a sangheili a comrade but he buried it. Still, Vale was a Spartan, and knew how to follow orders.

 

The Spartans tensed in anticipation. Locke motioned Tanaka forward. The human tank leaped out, her energy barrier still blocking shots, and fired her SAW.

 

Enemy fire poured in toward them. The Spartans rushed to whatever cover was available, which mostly turned out to be pieces of the Phantom. Tanaka dove behind part of the starboard hull just before her energy barrier would have failed.

 

“God _damn_ it!” Buck shouted. Locke glanced to the side and saw that the stealth expert had become visible again and was sprinting to cover. “Stray shot hit me, sir. Cloak shorted out,” he commed once he'd gotten there. Erratic fire filled the air in patterns. Most of the fire was directed at the visible Spartans, but enough was going toward nothing in particular that it had to be intentional. The enemy commander must have anticipated cloaked targets and deployed a brute force counter. It was effective, so long as the ammo held out and collateral damage wasn't a problem. Locke bit back a swear of his own. They'd needed Buck to perform a flanking maneuver. Without that trump card they were stuck pinned down.

 

Buck held his SMG on top of his cover, firing blindly in an effort to suppress the enemy.

 

Vale was likewise pinned. Maneuverability did little good when there was nowhere to go.

 

Tanaka was standing behind her barrier again, firing away, but there was nowhere close enough to get to before enemy fire would overwhelm it. She crouched back into cover and deactivated the thing to let it recharge.

 

Locke was trying to think of a plan when an unsteady voice came over the comms. “Spartans...” Mahkee said. “You need a distraction, yes? Something to draw the eyes of our enemy?”

 

“Affirmative, Pilot,” Locke replied. “You have something in mind?”

 

A chuckle answered him. “Just be ready.”

 

Before he could demand more details, Locke noticed a friendly blip on his motion tracker. He looked back toward the main wreckage of the Phantom and almost did a double take.

 

Mahkee was standing in the jagged, gaping hole in her ship. Her armor was dented on her left side and her posture suggested she was struggling to keep her balance. Her features set into what Locke recognized as a stern expression as she activated her energy sword and held it above her head. A challenge. The sangheili warrior shouted out, her voice somehow rising over the din of battle.

 

“Come to me, cowards! Come and face the heir to the great Fal 'Chava and the last warrior of his clan!”

 

Some fire was directed her way. A few bounced off of her energy shields, but Locke knew they would fail within seconds. Even Tanaka's powerful armor would not have kept her alive in that crossfire. He was about to order his team forward, to press the advantage that their pilot had bought with her life, when something unexpected happened.

 

No further shots struck Mahkee. Abruptly, the enemy fire began to peter out. The immediate area went silent in a matter of seconds. Someone must have given a ceasefire order. Locke followed suit, curious as to what was happening and desperate for any time to think of a way out of this. Another voice, male this time but unmistakably sangheili, called out across the battlefield.

 

“...Cousin? Cousin Mahkee?”

 

Locke noticed Mahkee's stance falter. She lowered her sword to below her waist, her mandibles spread wide.

 

A single Storm sangheili began walking toward them. His hands were up in truce.

 

“Hold fire! Hold fire!” Locke ordered. He wasn't sure what was going on but he knew an opportunity when he smelled it. His pilot stood out of cover and holstered her weapons. She went out into the killzone to greet the enemy warrior.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Mahkee 'Chava could scarcely believe her eyes. In front of her stood her only living relative. The only friend from before her rebirth to survive the betrayal of the san'shyuum. She had once prayed that she would never see him again. Now, though, she could not help but feel her spirit lift as she met with her oldest friend.

 

Kitun 'Savan seemed equally as surprised and conflicted. The pair stood across from each other, a couple strides apart, and simply looked. Kitun found his voice first.

 

“You are injured,” he said. Mahkee forced down a grimace. She had tried to hide how her most recent flight had winded her, but she had never been able to hide anything from Kitun.

 

“A scratch. Nothing more,” she replied, trying to hide the difficulty she had merely in staying upright. She fell silent once again, not sure how to continue.

 

“I...was not expecting to see you again, Cousin,” Kitun offered.

 

“Nor I, you,” Mahkee answered.

 

“In truth, I was not meant to be stationed here,” Kitun replied, missing, perhaps intentionally, the point. “I was to defend the seaport for at least a week. However, the walker was destroyed early and we were forced to retreat.”

 

“I know. I took part in the killing stroke,” Mahkee replied, feeling like she was trying to impress her older cousin as she had in her youth.

 

Kitun chuckled. “I always knew you were a force to be reckoned with.” He gestured to her waist. “You carry your father's sword. That is good. I think he would be proud to have you wield it.” He paused. Mahkee noticed something in his eyes. He seemed almost...apologetic.

 

A hope started to grow deep in her chest. She had assumed that if they ever met Kitun would try to kill her at once for her 'heresy'. Instead, here he was, talking to her. She sensed that something was troubling him. Something that might allow her to save her cousin before it was too late. She spoke again, trying to balance her calculation with her sincerity. “In your message you asked me, 'Why'. Why did I choose the Arbiter.” She looked him directly in the eye. “I chose him because he provides hope. Hope for true change, true salvation. I believe 'Mdama only offers the same hollow lies of the past.” She swallowed, knowing that this next part would be crucial. “I would ask you the same question, if you would return the courtesy.”

 

“...I follow him because he respects the Old Ways,” Kitun responded. Mahkee noticed that there was little of the conviction that his message, recorded years ago, had held.

 

“Does he?” Mahkee pounced. “Why, then, does he seek to awaken a Guardian?”

 

Kitun's mandibles sprang out in shock. “A—a Guardian?!” he asked. “N—no. You must be mistaken.”

 

“You have heard the Guardian song ring out, Kitun,” Mahkee riposted. “We all have. What else could such a sound be? Why else would he come to Sunaion, of all places? You must have seen how he conducts himself. Do you truly think such a thing is beyond him?” She received no answer. He was weakening! Mahkee rushed to continue. “Tell me, Kitun, do you remember what the Old Ways have to say about the Guardians of the Forerunners?”

 

“I know--” he began. Mahkee cut him off.

 

“'Speak not to the holy Guardians. Pray only that they remain still. Let them not stir, else they tear our world asunder.'”

 

“I know the sacred texts!” he shouted angrily, closing to within a hairsbreadth of her..

 

“Then what is your defense?” Mahkee pressed. “How can you justify your leader's recklessness and disregard for the tradition you so cherish?” She softened her expression and continued to stare into his eyes. “The Arbiter may break from tradition as well but he does so out of love. His new ways care for his people, from the highest Kaidon to the lowest healer. What mercy, what love, can _your_ leader have for his people if he is willing to risk the wrath of a Guardian?”

 

“Enough!!” Kitun shouted. Mahkee heard sounds from both sides of the battlefield as the warriors readied themselves to renew fighting. Kitun motioned to his warriors. They settled down a bit but did not lower their guard. The Storm officer closed his eyes and turned his head upward, muttering prayers for wisdom. For several agonizing seconds he held still and silent.

 

At last, Kitun turned back to his cousin. The look in his eyes told Mahkee all she needed to know.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Forward!” the Arbiter shouted. “Up the ramps! Up, toward our destiny!” The Swords warriors obeyed their sovereign and commander, pushing up the ramps leading to the interior of the ziggurat.

 

The defectors Mahkee had converted were already proving their worth. It seemed that the Arbiter's forces had advanced far faster than expected and 'Mdama had decided to consolidate as many troops in his headquarters as possible. A panic move that was seriously biting him in the ass now, as the former-Storm warriors had already disabled the anti-air fuel rod turrets and were currently suppressing the inner defenses. The perimeter was breached within seconds and battle was joined within the heart of 'Mdama's inner sanctum.

 

The fighting was brutal and merciless. It surpassed even the carnage seen elsewhere in the Storm capital. Plasma and blood rained in equal measure as ideological opposites clashed over the future of their species. Eventually, the Arbiter's forces reached the center and top of the Central Pylon.

 

It was an enormous courtyard surrounded by sheer walls. Breaks in the walls at seemingly random spots allowed entry into the courtyard's 2 areas. The first area, to the left of the break the Swords used to enter, was religious in nature. Shrines and prayer mats littered the ground. The second, to their right, was purely practical. There was the habitation for the Honor Guard and the sovereign himself as well as supplies for the guards. Finally, at the very center of it all, there was a small pyramidal structure, about 8 meters tall and 10 to a side, with a ramp on the near side leading to the peak.

 

The Swords of Sanghelios forces poured through and fanned out. There was surprisingly little resistance. Locke's instincts screamed at him that they were walking into a trap.

 

The sound of a horn rang out. Both sides stopped firing, the Spartans following suit after a signal from the Arbiter. Jul 'Mdama stood at the peak of the pyramid. In contrast to the Arbiter's silver and black armor, the leader of the Storm Covenant wore armor colored gold and platinum with an ornate helm and a design that resembled ancient plate armor. A long console, covered in a holographic interface of infinite complexity, could be glimpsed behind him. The control center for the entire city. It had to be.

 

“Let the heretic leader come forth!” 'Mdama shouted. His voiced boomed with whatever amplification he was using. The tyrant activated his energy sword and held it out in challenge. “We shall fight as warriors, one against the other. Let the pretender take his prize by his own hand if he is indeed a warrior of honor and courage!”

 

For a single, terrified heartbeat Locke thought the crazy bastard was actually going to comply. A one-on-one duel to decide the fate of the sangheili people seemed right up the alley of a warrior-king obsessed with honor.

 

The Arbiter drew a plasma rifle in his left hand, his right still holding his energy sword, and fired a burst. 'Mdama's energy shields flared as several rounds struck him dead center mass.

 

The battle was joined. Both sides opened fire, filling the air of the courtyard with plasma and lead.

 

_So. Guess he's not_ _insane, after all,_ Locke thought.

 

The Arbiter and a group of his elite guard pushed forward, intent on reaching the pyramid. They focused their attention on creating an opening to the Storm leader's location. It seemed that the Arbiter  _did_ intend to have a grand duel. He just wanted it on his terms.

 

_Not_ completely  _insane, then._

 

One of the shrines in the courtyard exploded outward and 2 enormous figures lumbered into view. Locke's eyes widened as he recognized an infantryman's worst nightmare.

 

A pair of mgalekgolo.

 

One of the alien walking tanks opened fire with its integrated fuel rod cannon. The ensuing blast hit the center of the Swords' rear formation and forced them to regroup under fire from the Storm Honor Guard.

 

_And theeerrre's the trap!_ Locke snarled in frustration. The Arbiter and 'Mdama dueled at the top of the pyramid as their warriors battled below.

 

_Fucking poetry..._

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Mgalekgolo, more commonly referred to as 'Hunters', were the most widely known configuration of lekgolo worms. Each was a colony sharing a hive mind and contained in a 3 meter tall bipedal shell more heavily armored than a Wraith tank. They had a hunchback profile with razor sharp, meter-long spines of alien metal sticking out in parallel rows on their backs.

 

Each Hunter had 2 'arms'. One held an enormous slab of starship-grade armor plating which it used as a shield. The other ended in an integrated fuel rod cannon that could be set to fire a single, powerful shot, like a rocket launcher; a rapid burst of weaker shots, like a grenade launcher; or a solid stream of deadly, green energy.

 

Said energy was currently wreaking havoc among the Spartans and their sangheili 'friends'. Weapons fire splashed over the Hunters' armor ineffectually. Occasionally a plasma grenade would land nearby but the Hunter would just hunch behind its shield and weather the blast undamaged. At best, the explosive would land behind it and sing its armored back. Plasma fire flew back and forth as the Storm Honor Guard took advantage of the chaos and thinned the Swords' numbers significantly. Only a constant influx of replacement troops kept Fireteam Osiris from being overwhelmed.

 

A Storm sangheili's shield broke and its head exploded. Locke grunted in satisfaction and reloaded his Battle Rifle. This was not a viable situation. The Spartans were good, but no one was invincible. Eventually, someone would get a lucky shot in and kill one or all of them. They needed to do something about the Hunters, fast. He hunkered down behind a piece of ruined habitation and ran through everything he had read about the aliens, trying to think of a solution.

 

Every Hunter team consisted of 2 units and began life as a single colony of lekgolo. Once said original colony reached a certain mass, it divided into the 2 new colonies that would form a pair of 'bond brothers'. Said pairs were inseparable and tied together by a tight psychological bond. If they managed to kill one, the other would go berserk and potentially slip up enough to let in a killshot.

 

So, all they needed to do was kill a pair of Hunters. On foot. Standard Operating Procedure for dealing with Hunters was to fall back and call in an airstrike. Failing that, use armored vehicles, preferably Scorpions. Failing _that_ , heavy weapons fired from a safe distance. The only thing at hand that Locke could see hurting them were the anti-air turrets, and they had already been disabled—

 

“Osiris One, do you copy?” Locke commed.

 

“Copy, Osiris Lead,” Tanaka responded, sounding out of breath.

 

“Osiris One, you have demolition experience, correct?”

 

“Affirmative, boss,” she said. “You got a job for me?”

 

A grin tugged at Locke's mouth. “I just might.” Locke filled her in on his improvised plan. Like his idea to fly beneath the hard-light platforms, it might be just crazy enough to work.

 

“Swords of Sanghelios, focus attention on the Honor Guard,” Locke commed. “We'll handle the mgalekgolo.” Thankfully, none of the Arbiter's warriors put up an argument and they shifted their fire to their more mortal sangheili opponents. Locke spared a moment to glance at the top of the pyramid.

 

The Arbiter and Jul 'Mdama were still dueling alone. It seemed that 'Mdama's savagery didn't extend to simply having one of his subordinates shoot his enemy in the back. Maybe he wanted to prove himself the superior warrior or something. Locke found himself wishing that 'Mdama had less of an inferiority complex; his job would be significantly easier if the Arbiter was killed by someone other than himself.

 

“Osiris Two and Three,” Locke commed. “We're the rabbits. It's our job to keep the Hunters occupied as long as needed.” He was sure that if it were possible for confirmation flashes to be unenthusiastic, the blue lights on his HUD would be positively glaring at him.

 

It didn't take long to get the Hunters' attention. As their name implied, they were rather easy to bait into pursuit if they didn't have an authority figure with a firm grip on their reigns. All Osiris had to do was keep firing potshots while retreating deeper into the maze of equipment littering the courtyard.

 

Locke's shields broke as a stream from one of the Hunters managed to stay on him for a second before he got into cover. An alert on his HUD notified him of a spike in internal temperature. Not that he needed it; the sweat that had broken out across his body was sign enough. He peeked back at his foe from around the prefab domicile.

 

The fuel rod cannon was starting to glow brighter. It was building a charge.

 

_FUCK!_

 

Locke lunged out of cover and launched himself through the air with his thrusters—too late. The heavy shot from the fuel rod cannon hit and incinerated the cover he had been hiding behind. The blast instantly depleted his still-recharging shields and hurled Locke through the air and into an equipment crate, crushing it under his massive weight and making it slide for a few meters before screeching to a stop in a crumpled mess. Locke slid off and lay flat on the ground.

 

Every part of Locke's body ached. Alarms blared inside his helmet. It took him a second to shake off the disorientation. His blood ran cold as he finally absorbed the information his armor was conveying.

 

His energy shield was offline.

 

“Plan's ready, boss,” Tanaka said over the comms. She had been excused from playing rabbit to perform her own part. Locke rolled over and forced his throbbing legs under himself; he refused to let pain or fear get the best of him. Not when he was so close.

 

“Vale, you're up,” Locke commed, forgetting to use codenames. His subordinate acknowledged the order.

 

One of the Hunters was suddenly being pelted by debris. _Thrown_ debris. The sheer oddness of it was enough to draw its attention. It turned to see the burgundy colored Spartan throwing random pieces of broken equipment at it. The human soldier shouted, “You aren't even worthy of my bullets, worm-boy! Go back to eating dirt and fleeing from birds!” The mgalekgolo typically possessed a strong sense of pride in their status as elite warriors. The glory of soldiering was almost as important among their kind as it was among the sangheili.

 

Therefore, seeing this smaller creature belittling it and its race was enough to make the Hunter completely forget about everything other than reducing her to a smoldering crater.

 

Rapid-fire fuel rod shots followed Vale. The light-footed Spartan easily outpaced the stream of deadly shots, the miniature blasts following like a line of dots. The Hunter switched to continuous stream; it left a line of scorched metal and glowing hard-light as it tried to keep up with its prey. Vale used her thrusters to quickly maneuver around cover, continuing to hurl debris and insults at the behemoth. The Hunter somehow bellowed in rage and rushed in, intent on smashing the impudent nuisance in close quarters. Vale lead it further and further into the domicile/equipment area. Objects flew as the alien monster crashed towards its target.

 

At last, the Hunter smashed aside a line of crates to find Vale waiting for it. The Spartan leaped clean over the behemoth, landed in a roll, and sprinted at top speed through the path the walking tank had made. The alien monster turned around and began charging a heavy shot. Its prey would not escape it so easily.

 

Unfortunately for the Hunter, its tunnel vision prevented it from noticing what Vale had been standing in front of: a large pile of fuel rod ammunition, originally meant for the anti-air turrets and gathered by Tanaka, rigged up to a demolition charge.

 

A massive explosion rocked the courtyard.

 

Green fire rose into the air in a fireball. Warriors across the battlefield, both Swords and the increasingly few Storm, were knocked off of their feet. Deadly shrapnel flew across the courtyard and bounced off of its walls at high velocity, cutting several warriors to pieces. The sheer intensity of the flash was enough to put spots in the eyes of any who had been looking in its direction. The hard-light floors and walls showed grid-cracks for meters in every direction from the epicenter.

 

“Osiris Two, status,” Locke commed, hoping he hadn't lost his subordinate.

 

“C-copy, Osiris Lead,” came the response. “I'd...prefer not to do that again, though.”

 

Something caught Locke's eye before he could respond. The detonation had shrouded the area in smoke and steam from the flash-evaporated rain but the winds were dispersing the obstruction. Locke's jaw fell open as he saw a large form lumbering towards them.

 

A scorched and blackened hunter limped away from the site of the trap. After a momentary, weak attempt to raise its weapon, it collapsed onto its front. The rear armor had been completely blasted off. The numerous lekgolo worms were now visible, having been cooked to a crisp by the intense heat of the blast.

 

One down.

 

A mighty roar echoed over the battlefield. The remaining Hunter began firing erratically and rushing any living thing it could see in a blind rage. The death of its 'bond brother' had driven it utterly berserk.

 

Few if any Storm Covenant troops remained in the courtyard, so the Swords warriors shifted their attention to the Hunter. Plasma fire was able to bypass the Hunters shield as it swung and charged recklessly.

 

Unfortunately, a rabid Hunter was still a _rabid Hunter_ , and its massive shield and fuel rod cannon started taking its toll. Numerous sangheili were crushed or incinerated during its rampage. One ballsy warrior closed the distance and tried to pivot around it, probably hoping to stick a plasma grenade on the thing's rear.

 

The Hunter flexed the razor-sharp spines on its back. The sangheili was sliced into pieces.

 

Locke glanced back at the top of the pyramid. The duelists were still going at it, although the steam and rain were making it hard to see who had the upper hand. The ONI Agent growled in frustration. He needed to get up there before the Arbiter's warriors if he was going to complete his objectives. He needed to secure that command console...and make sure neither of the sangheili leaders survived.

 

Focus. He needed to focus on the task at hand. He wasn't about to leave a job half-finished.

 

Yeah. That was it. That was why he wasn't just rushing the ramp now, while everyone was busy dealing with the Hunter. He needed to finish the job. Nothing deeper than that.

 

A wave of frustration washed over Locke. He was pissed. He was going to kill that _fucking thing_ , complete his objectives, wring his answers out of the Master Chief's neck, and get back to his job. Back to his life.

 

The Hunter howled in pain as a plasma grenade landed on its back and finally forced a hole in its weakened armor. Locke saw his opening. The Spartan stowed his Battle Rifle and drew his sidearm. He pulled out the mag and removed the top round, replacing it with a very special munition he had been saving. The magazine made a satisfying 'klack' as he rammed it home.

 

Locke emerged from cover and sprinted directly toward his enemy. The Hunter noticed quickly and whirled to meet the new threat. It roared and raised its shield, intending to swing it and cut Locke in half with its edge.

 

Using his augmented reflexes, Locke anticipated the blow and jumped clean over the swipe at the last half-second. He used his thrusters to add extra height and distance, turning his jump into a leap that took him clean over the alien just as Vale had done.

 

Unlike Vale, Locke turned in mid-flight and aimed his pistol down. Time slowed to a crawl as Locke poured all of his will into aiming his one shot directly into the gap in the Hunter's armor.

 

He fired.

 

As an ONI Agent, Locke was privy to many secrets. One such secret was the scrapped development of a special round that combined miniature rocket design with armor piercing and explosive ordinance to create a type of 'micro-missile' that could be used in a standard firearm. Sheer cost had lead to the project being canned. Locke had managed to use his resources to acquire the single functional prototype left, which he carried with him in case of an emergency.

 

The 'bolter shell' flew out of Locke's pistol and punched straight through the gap in the Hunter's armor. The creature only had a moment to shout in pain before the munition detonated and shards of depleted uranium were launched in all directions. The Hunter's thick armor locked the pieces of shrapnel in, allowing them to shred the lekgolo worms as they ricocheted around inside.

 

Within a second enough of the worms were killed to produce a sort of psychic shock throughout the group organism. The last Hunter fell over, dead.

 

Locke landed in a roll and turned toward the ramp to the top of the pyramid. He was on the far side. He sprinted around the structure, intent on...something. He was running on instinct and could only hope he would know what to do when he got there.

 

A sangheili corpse landed in front of him as he turned the corner. Locke was about to leap over it and continue when he realized who the body belonged to. He skidded to a stop.

 

Jul 'Mdama had seen better days. He was missing his right arm and had a hole punch through his chest. The melted armor around the edges of the injuries indicated an energy sword. Various other patches of the gold-colored armor were blackened by glancing blows. The limbs that remained were twisted and broken from the fall. Blood flowed freely from the alien's slack maw. Locke glanced up at the top of the pyramid.

 

“Swords of Sanghelios,” the Arbiter shouted, “the false prophet lies dead! Today _does_ mark the end of the last dying remnant of the old Covenant! Today _is_ the final defeat of the lies of the san'shyuum! Today is _indeed_ the beginning of a glorious new era for the sangheili people!” He raised his energy sword far above his head. “For Sanghelios! For our future!”

 

A hand grabbed Locke's right ankle. The Spartan looked down and saw 'Mdama, clinging to his last breaths, trying to get his attention. A smile tugged at his lips. It seemed he'd get the pleasure of finishing the murderous prick off, after all. He reached for his combat knife, intending to savor the moment.

 

“...Arbiter...” the sangheili croaked, coughing blood, barely audible over the rain and dwindling sounds of battle. His eyes were unfocused. It seemed he assumed the Arbiter was the one standing over him, triumphant in victory. Locke was about to correct him when he continued. “In my armor...rear compartment...is proof. Proof of the...nature of your new...” he chuckled wetly, “ _friends_.”

 

Jul 'Mdama, the Didact's Hand, bane of humanity and his own people, would-be ruler of all the known galaxy, drew a last, ragged breath...and died.

 

Locke examined the back of the dead war-criminal's armor. There was indeed a compartment there. It was curious, considering the ornamental design of the rest of the piece. He reached down and forced the warped lid open, trying to convince himself he wasn't looking for an excuse not to complete his mission.

 

Inside the compartment...was a compad.

 

A _human_ compad.

 

The power button revealed a familiar home screen. It was a completely blank, white page, with one exception: a small symbol. It was in the top right corner, positioned so it seemed almost to be watching whoever was looking at the screen. Locke knew it well. It was, after all, painted on the chest of his own armor.

 

The all-seeing eye of ONI.

 

Unable to stop himself, Locke clicked on the emblem.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The glassed landscape glittered in the night. Reflected starlight and the settlement's artificial illuminators turned the ruined vista into a mirror of the starry night sky. Jul 'Mdama reflected on the irony that an act of mass butchery, namely the glassing of human colony world 'New Llanelli', could lead to such beauty.

 

The reminder of the old Covenant's insane war brought fresh pain to the sangheili high officer. He had never believed in the religious rhetoric of the Covenant, but he had assumed that the Great War must have had some kind of worth purpose behind it. Having learned the true, treacherous motives behind the war, the sight of what his kind had done produced in him a strange kind of remorse. He had to wonder if they might have made peace with the humans if they had shuffled off the chains of the san'shyuum sooner.

 

Ah, well. There was little point in wondering about that, now. The War had happened and the damage had been done. Humanity hated the sangheili, and they always would. There would be no forgiveness. Only future conflict and, if the sangheili did not act now, perhaps a repeat of the Great War with humanity playing the role of the aggressors.

 

It was the fear of just such a possibility that led 'Mdama to join fellow high officer Avu Med 'Telcam. The Arbiter meant well, but he had proven himself to be foolishly optimistic in trying to make peace with the humans. Only 'Telcam and his warriors seemed to understand the threat that humanity did and always would pose to the sangheili people.

 

Thus, 'Mdama found himself here, on a glassed world far from his clan's keep, to plan the subjugation of the human species. There would be no repeat of the mass slaughter of years past. The humans would simply have to take their place alongside the unggoy as thralls to the sangheili people. A few centuries of servitude should be enough to weed out the lust for vengeance. 'Mdama and 'Telcam would be launching their first attack soon, if all went well. The first stage to ensuring peace for the galaxy. The sound of marching hoofs drew him from his ruminations.

 

“There you are, Legionmaster 'Mdama,” 'Telcam greeted. “I was wondering where you had gotten to, brother.” 'Mdama could not see his ally's features as he and his retinue wore full headgear to avoid breathing the destroyed planet's toxic atmosphere. This bothered him more than it should and the scales on the back of 'Mdama's neck began to itch again. The feeling that something was wrong had plagued him since they first arrived on this pile of ruins that used to be a planet. He set his features, determined not to give anything away.

 

“Greetings, Legionmaster 'Telcam,” he replied. “I was merely enjoying the scenery. It will likely be some time before we have another spare moment.”

 

'Telcam chuckled. “Just so, brother, just so,” he said. “Speaking of which: I must meet our supplier. The weapons we need to complete the first battle of our crusade should be in our hands by morning.”

 

A sigh nearly escaped 'Mdama's mandibles. He loathed the fact that they had to resort to unlawful weapons dealers at this point in their nascent movement. They did not yet have enough supporters to openly manufacture the resources they would need to conquer the humans once and for all.

 

“Will you remain star-gazing much longer, brother?” 'Telcam asked, hesitantly. “I can have some females brought to your tent that would be more than happy to entertain you.”

 

Once again, 'Mdama kept his emotions hidden. “That would be appreciated...brother,” he said simply. 'Telcam nodded and gave directions to his servant. The 2 high officers embraced briefly before separating.

 

An hour later, 'Mdama quietly eased out the back of his tent. The 3 females within were fast asleep. The drugged wine he had fed them would keep them from raising a stir at his sudden disappearance. He checked the small dataslate built into his gauntlet.

 

The tracking device he had planted on 'Telcam was transmitting. Good. He moved to leave the settlement and reach the Ghost in one of the emergency stashes nearby. No one could know what he was doing.

 

The journey was delayed at the first hurdle by a group of unggoy laborers. The diminutive workers were performing maintenance on one of the guard towers. It seemed their daily duties had run late.

 

'Mdama felt anger rise inside him at the delay, but he was careful to check the emotion lest it lead him to abuse the poor unggoy. He could hardly fault them for performing their duties to the best of their ability.

 

Thankfully, the laborers finished their work promptly and went on their way. 'Mdama sneaked out as quickly as he dared and rushed toward his objective. He needed to find out why 'Telcam was so insistent upon keeping his supplier secret. He needed to know what was making his ally so nervous.

 

A brief period of time passed and 'Mdama found himself crawling towards a vantage point. The Ghost had been left far behind as the gravity drive would give him away long before he could observe the proceedings. He reached the top of a small hill and activated the vision enhancement within his helm.

 

There. He could see 'Telcam and his guards waiting in an empty patch of ground. The supplier must not have arrived yet. 'Mdama settled in to wait. He did not have to wait long. The absolute last thing the sangheili high officer had expected descended from the clouds.

 

A human dropship.

 

A spike of adrenaline went through 'Mdama. They had been discovered! 'Telcam and his forces needed to flee, at once!

 

Yet...none of 'Telcam's party seemed shocked. They watched calmly as the vaguely avian shaped craft, named a 'Pelican' by the humans, settled to the ground. A cloud of silicate particles were thrown into the air. A ramp descended once the cloud had dispersed. A group of human warriors filed out and approached 'Telcam. They seemed to be conversing.

 

A terrible feeling settled into 'Mdama's gut. This...this was 'Mdama's source. The very threat that he had sworn to fight against was funding their crusade!

 

The shock and horror transformed into cold fury as 'Mdama watched the deal go forward. The humans began unloading several crates from their transport and presenting them to his former ally. This would not stand. As the minutes went by, the Legionmaster began to plan how he would deal with 'Telcam and his traitorous rabble.

 

A sharp pain pierced 'Mdama's neck. The pain increased by orders of magnitude as an electrical charge coursed through his body, leaving his muscles a twitching, unresponsive mess. He managed to turn his head enough to glimpse his attacker.

 

A Spartan.

 

The sangheili warrior was in chains in an instant. Recognizing the threat he posed, 'Telcam handed him over to the humans with nary a second thought to the one he had called 'brother'.

 

The next few months passed in a daze. 'Mdama was taken from one dark, windowless room to another. His health fluctuated wildly and it didn't take long for him to discern that the humans were putting things in his food. They were experimenting on him. Trying to discover the best way to kill his kind.

 

All the while they mocked him. They spat on him, belittled him and his race, and generally made sure to treat him as lower than excrement. Beatings were frequent. As were various forms of torture such as sleep deprivation. It was in these days that 'Mdama developed his hatred for humanity. Where before he had viewed them as threats to be dealt with, now he saw them as the wretched vermin that they were.

 

Eventually, he had been taken to a Forerunner installation. They told him nothing but he gathered that this was the most secure location his captors had access to. This was where he spent the majority of his time in captivity.

 

It was there that he learned the true utility of false faith. Believing him to be nothing more than a broken laboratory specimen, the humans allowed him to visit some of the Forerunner sites under the pretense of religious observance. Perhaps it amused them to see one of his kind still bound by a faith they viewed as false. In this way he learned of numerous Forerunner secrets.

 

Including the teleporter he used to escape.

 

The first news to greet 'Mdama when he returned to sangheili space was that of the destruction of his clan's keep and the death of his wife. After that, his life crystallized.

 

It had been surprisingly easy to supplant 'Telcam as the leader of the faction that opposed humans. It proved even easier to use the knowledge of the Forerunners he gained while in captivity to convince his followers that he had been given divine insight by the gods themselves. His authority became sacred by definition and, combined with his passionate opposition to the Arbiter's reforms and the human vermin he cared so much for, lead to his meteoric rise in power.

 

Soon, he was launching strikes across human space. In the span of months he rose in power to the point where he openly waged war against the Arbiter and his allies. 'Mdama would rule the sangheili as the Supreme Kaidon, the _true_ Arbiter, and he would lead his forces to eliminate the human menace once and for all.

 

All the while, he never forgot the humans who had imprisoned him. Who had humiliated him time and time again. Who had born the symbol of a circle within a pyramid within a circle.

 

The Office of Naval Intelligence.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The ball of dark matter in Locke's stomach kept growing as he examined the files. Operation reports, records of experimentation performed on 'Mdama, details of the weapons supplied to the early insurgents...It was all there. 'Mdama must have spent years stealing all of this data and compiling it in this one compad.

 

Locke wanted to deny it. Wanted to believe that the files were fake. A kind of psychological warfare meant to destroy the relationship between the Swords of Sanghelios and the Unified Earth Government. He couldn't, though. The documents were too precise, the terminology too accurate. He had a trained eye and he recognized legitimate records when he saw them. He couldn't escape from it.

 

ONI had helped found the Storm Covenant.

 

The logic behind it fit, too. ONI had wanted to sow conflict within the sangheili. To weaken the aliens in preparation for the next war. It was the same thing they were doing now by ordering Locke to assassinate the Arbiter.

 

Locke thought about all that the Storm had done. About all of the people, human beings that he had sworn to protect, that had died at the hands of 'Mdama's fanatics. He thought of the people he, personally, had lost to those genocidal murderers.

 

The installation started shaking around him. Lost in shock, Locke was barely aware of the Guardian song ringing out once again. Only distantly noticed that the ziggurat had started to move apart, the courtyard now floating in the center of a ring of pieces that used to be the Central Pylon. The world was coming apart around him.

 

He was lost in the chaos. The madness, the... _betrayal_ of it all.

 

Buck was shaking his shoulder. Locke looked at the Spartan IV, the ODST, and wondered what he would think of this revelation. What the rest of Fireteam Osiris would think. There was no doubt in Locke's mind that it would result in a lot of dead ONI Agents. It would be hard to blame them for that reaction. Buck's shouts went unheard as Locke continued to occupy a kind of netherworld of his own.

 

A pale, ethereal blue light drew their attention. It appeared out of nowhere right in front of the pyramid. The light turned into a flash that, once faded, revealed a group of humanoid figures in chrome-colored armor with a jet black under-layer.

 

The Forerunner Soldiers had arrived.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I made it a point to include lots of descriptions of the carnage this battle is creating. Arbiter and company are pushing to the center of the city as quickly as possible and that speed has to come at the cost of massive casualties. It also ties back to the theme of 'War is Hell' that I've been trying to explore throughout this fic. I'm worried that it became a bit gratuitous. What do you guys think?
> 
> Note: The Arbiter's presence helping to motivate his troops is one of the few benefits to having a leader fighting on the front lines. Of course, if he gets killed morale would plummet, but ole Arby is a bit too confident and tied up in his conception of honor to let that sway him. 
> 
> Note: I tried to set up the redemption of Mahkee's cousin over the past few chapters. The grumbling of the seaport guard, the implied ignorance of a young Kitun in Mahkee's message way back, etc. Did I pull off the encounter? Was the conversation believable, or did it become a bit hokey?
> 
> Note: The bit of sangheili scripture Mahkee quotes is paraphrased from one of the collectible audio logs in Halo 5. The idea for relatives being on both sides of the conflict first came from them, as well, although it played out much differently than in my version. 
> 
> Note: I know that the Hunters are a bit OP here. I always thought the Halo franchise's walking tanks should be a bit more substantial than they are in the games. I just like the idea of them being this nightmarish presence that makes infantry run in terror at the sight of them. 
> 
> Note: The part with the Hunter leaving steam was inspired by the 'Superman the Animated' Series finale, 'Legacy, part 2', in which Darkseid does something similar. Its a sequence that's always stuck with me. 
> 
> Note: To my knowledge, the razor-sharp spines on the Hunters backs have never been used in a canon story. Figured I'd use it here.
> 
> Note: Yes, the bolter shell is a Warhammer 40K reference
> 
> Note: The design of 'Mdama's armor is loosely based on the Arbiter's outfit in Halo 5. I think it looks stupid and impractical, especially compared to his classic armor. I decided to put it in here so I could have the Arbiter beat the shit out of it. I guess you could take that as representative of how this entire fic started out as a therapeutic exercise to deal with the disappointment of Halo 5. 
> 
> Note: The flashback from 'Mdama's POV is based on events from the Kilo Five trilogy of novels. I could have read the books to ensure accuracy, but they were written by Karen Traviss, so fuck that noise. Halopedia will have to do.
> 
> Note: Depicting Locke's state of mind here has been really tricky. He hasn't consciously decided to defy orders, but his experiences have undermined the mindset ONI worked hard to instill in him. A part of him he isn't aware of is pushing him to do the decent thing without him consciously realizing it. Am I pulling this off okay? This is one of the most important parts of this fic and I would really appreciate some feedback. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	39. Ch 38 Reclamation

Chapter 38: Reclamation

 

The world was going insane.

 

Hard-light platforms throughout the city of Sunaion were deactivating. The carnage of the assault was being swallowed up by the sea, along with whatever unfortunate soldiers were caught on the 'ground'. Swords dropships buzzed around, desperately rushing to evacuate as many of the survivors as possible before Sunaion was reduced to a vast formation of smooth metal spires.

 

The Central Pylon was the exception to this trend. Rather than vanishing, the ziggurat that formed the peak of the pylon had separated into a number of smaller fragments. Each fragment contained multiple decks and structures, the levels connected by hard-light ramps or gravity lifts. The components of this miniature solar system all revolved in a chaotic rhythm around the fragment that was the center of the entire city.

 

Spartan Locke took cover in the courtyard area, just below the Command pyramid. His mind was still in a daze after the revelations found in 'Mdama's compad. The career soldier was effectively on autopilot as combat instincts carried him through this newest battle.

 

Weapons fire flew around the cluttered battlefield. Locke was one of the fortunate ones, having found an energy barrier to hide behind. Most of the original cover had already been destroyed. The debris many of Locke's allies were hiding behind was from the aircraft that had been shot down by the new arrivals.

 

Focus. Locke needed to focus, or else none of them would make it out of this alive. He decided to direct his attention toward analyzing the hostiles. Studying enemies had always helped him gain perspective.

 

The Forerunner Soldiers had appeared. They were composed of a crystalline core, black inner layer of what was presumably synthetic muscle, and chrome-colored hard-light armor coating their humanoid bodies. The amber lights still glowed from within their visors just where their eyes should have been. Just like on Meridian, they seemed to blast into existence in a blue flash of light. Also like their counterparts on that doomed human colony, they immediately went about murdering everything that wasn't them.

 

Beams of deadly directed energy shot across the battlefield as Soldiers fired a new type of weapon. Swarms of laser-straight, wafer-thin lines, far smaller than the weapons fire of the standard Soldier firearm, pulsed across friendly positions. The Spartans and their sangheili allies were forced to stay behind cover to avoid being diced into pieces.

 

This weapon had not been seen on Meridian, nor had the Soldiers firing it. These drones were more heavily armored, with easily twice the bulk of hard-light covering their black 'flesh' and crystalline core. A solid collar extended from the chest piece, covering the Soldier's neck and lower skull along 3 sides, with a slightly shorter section in front to avoid obstructing vision. Their visors featured a glowing horizontal slit rather than the more open covering that their comrades used. These SAW Gunners moved with a slower, more deliberate gait than their standard issue counterparts.

 

The SAW Gunners weren't the only new variant, either. Another version, also humanoid for whatever nonsensical reason, hefted a massive device on its shoulder. A bright beam of light, smaller in diameter than even the SAW rounds, pulsed into the air. A burgundy Spirit dropship, the heavy tank of aircraft, was neatly sliced in two. The pieces crashed into the courtyard, sending warriors scrambling and crushing several Soldiers. Locke could see the smoldering edges glowing where the energy weapon had touched it.

 

At least now there was more cover.

 

As Locke and the rest of Fireteam Osiris took cover behind one of the prongs of the derelict Spirit, the ONI Agent kept trying to get his bearings. The Soldiers had adapted since last engagement. Presumably there was some sort of higher, guiding intelligence that had analyzed the fighting on Meridian and produced these new units to compensate for the previous models' deficiencies. The anti-air weapons in particular seemed to be a ripoff of the Spartan Laser that Osiris had used on Meridian.

 

The question was: who was in charge? Who had ordered the adaptations? Who had conceived and designed them? There were no records of Forerunner war machines like these anywhere that Locke knew of, not to mention the amateurish design and tactical philosophy employed. Locke remembered the digital fingerprint that Dr. Hamilton had discovered in Meridian's Guardian. Could Cortana really be behind this?

 

The battle continued to rage in the epicenter of the Forerunner city. Idly, Locke wondered where Cortana's former companion was at that moment.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Master Chief clambered onto a small platform orbiting the city center. The fragments of the Forerunner ziggurat flew in bizarre, irregular orbits around their core, which the Chief would bet anything contained the city's control center. He craned his neck to look at the significantly higher core. Other fragments blocked his view of the control center as they moved between him and his destination. He turned his attention back toward his current position.

 

The ziggurat section was 2 stories tall and roughly the size of a suburban house. There were no exterior walls and only a simple ramp connected the 2 decks. The Chief motioned his squad up the ramp. They needed to gain altitude if they were going to reach the control center.

 

“Contact!” Blue One commed.

 

Figures resembling the bizarre combat drones they had encountered in the Meridian mining pit, 'Soldiers' as Fireteam Osiris had rather uncreatively dubbed them, appeared in a flash of blue light. The Master Chief felt cold dark matter settle into his gut as memories threatened to overwhelm him. Things had not gone well the last time they had engaged these monstrosities.

 

Decades of experience let him quickly shunt those emotions aside and focus on the tactical situation. “Up the ramp!” he shouted, intending to reach the high ground. The human supersoldiers' energy shields crackled as the alien projectiles struck them.

 

Fortunately, the ramp was relatively short, and the Spartans' superhuman speed was enough to get them above and to cover before they were cut down. Fred and Linda, having taken the least hits, fired on the enemy as the Chief and Kelly crouched behind cover to let their shields recharge.

 

A pair of the drones suddenly shot into view from below. They rose above the solid banister, arced over it, and landed on their 'feet'. The half of Blue Team not occupied suppressing the drones below attacked the new arrivals.

 

Immediately, these drones marked themselves as different from the others. For one thing, their armor was far more streamlined than what were presumably the standard Soldier infantry. It seemed less bulky and was what would be form-fitting on a human. In a way this was good, as the armor seemed to be less sturdy.

 

Unfortunately, they also proved harder to hit. The Elite Soldiers were far faster and more agile than their more direct counterparts. This capability was only compounded by what appeared to be an alien variant on the thruster technology that Fireteam Osiris had used against them in the Forerunner complex. Rings of hard-light shone with an ethereal blue light on their shoulders and lower backs. They shone brighter whenever they activated, allowing for rapid maneuvering and increased force in any blows.

 

The Master Chief discovered this last fact the hard way as one of them shoulder checked him into a hard-light pillar. His energy shield instantly collapsed and grid-cracks appeared on the pillar behind him. The offending hostile moved to slash at the Chief's neck with its taloned fingers. The Spartan barely managed to parry the blow, receiving some scratches on his titanium armor. He tried to grab the enemy and lever it into the ground, but the thruster-rings pulsed and it shot out of reach at the last instant.

 

The fight went on like that for a while. The elite drone would attack, the Chief would evade, and the drone would pulse just out of his grasp. The Spartan suppressed a growl of frustration.

 

Fortunately, the skill of these drones had not increased along with their equipment. It took little time for the Chief to recognize a predictable pattern in his enemy's movements. The drone moved in to slash once again— _why didn't it have a proper weapon?—_ and he allowed it to score some shallow gouges along his shoulder. The Chief moved to grab it again, and the drone pulsed out of the way.

 

Directly into the Chief's boot.

 

The kick landed center mass with enough force to fling the very surprised drone a meter backward into the same pillar the Chief had been thrown into at the start of this fight. Not giving his enemy any space, the Spartan rushed forward and pressed the barrel of his assault rifle under the Soldier's chin.

 

“Dodge this,” he said, pulling the trigger. The drone's visor shone with light as the crystalline core within shattered. The Chief pivoted around the pillar at the last half-second, avoiding his enemy's explosive demise. His armor was singed but otherwise undamaged; it crackled with energy as his shields came back online, the drone's constant assault no longer hindering it. The Master Chief turned his attention to his squadmates.

 

The other drone had targeted Kelly, which was more worrying than it would normally be since she lacked her shotgun. It turned out to have been as predictable as its sibling, however, as it pulsed out of the way of a blow directly into the sights of the Spartan's Assault Rifle. Kelly fired the weapon, hitting her enemy in the dead center of its visor. She then grabbed the temporarily disoriented drone, shoved her combat knife up through its chin, and kicked it away. It exploded harmlessly far across the deck. The Chief heard her mutter something about 'cathartic...' as she sheathed her blade and readied her rifle once again.

 

The rest of the drones were eliminated in short order. The members of Blue Team moved out without needing to be told; they all understood the stakes.

 

The Master Chief paused at the top of their current fragment. They had to wait for a higher orbiting component to come within range, at which point his squadmates and he would jump across. It was perilous and time-consuming, but it was the only way up as all of the friendly aircraft were occupied with the Buzzards.

 

More distant flashes drew the Chief's attention as he examined the aerial battle. Decades of experience allowed him to instantly recognize the sight of a naval battle occurring in relatively close proximity to the planet he was standing on. It seemed the ceasefire in the sangheili's home system was now over.

 

Another fragment drew close and the 2 pieces of the ziggurat matched each other's velocity. Arcs of blue lightning fired between them as some unknown function was performed. The Chief didn't concern himself with trying to wrap his mind around how and why the Forerunners designed their facility to operate this way. He simply leaped upward and hauled himself onto the higher fragment. He wondered how the Arbiter's forces were doing in orbit.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The battle in space was not going well.

 

The fleetmaster in command of the Swords of Sanghelios armada clenched his mandibles close to his face.

 

It was bad enough that the Storm Covenant had violated the sacred law forbidding fleet battles so close to Sanghelios. No one, save the Arbiter, had imagined that 'Mdama had fallen this far. The fleetmaster tasted bile at the mere thought of that wretched barbarian. He dearly hoped the Arbiter made his death long and painful for this offense.

 

Almost worse than the treachery, however, were these new foes. They were small, barely larger than a Banshee, but there were so many of them. A plague-like swarm of chrome-colored gunships flowed throughout the battlefield, draining energy shields through sheer volume of fire and forcing the Swords of Sangelios to divide their attention between the Storm vessels and these smaller adversaries. They were clearly creatures of the Storm, as none of the enemy ships were under fire from these new units, but they did not resemble anything ever crafted by sangheili hands.

 

Alarms blared as the fleetmaster's own flagship came under fire. The new enemy units were swarming over his supercarrier like locusts on a slab of meat. The energy shield was barely holding at 20% as blast after blast was launched by the tiny horde. Scores of the wretched things were atomized by the point defense lasers, but more simply kept coming. The fleetmaster barked out a command, ordering power diverted from the rear weapons toward the shield capacitors. There were no capital ships in that direction and he had no desire to see his own ship rendered vulnerable in this chaos. He also ordered his last wing of Seraph fighters to launch and engage the hostile gunships.

 

As the fleetmaster watched another of his capital ships be gutted by plasma torpedoes, a part of him wondered if, just perhaps, the Arbiter had been right.

 

No.

 

He would not stoop to that.

 

The sangheili people had already stooped to enough lows for survival without bringing this further shame upon themselves. The Arbiter's 'reforms' were taxing his patience as it was. This battle for the future of the sangheili people would be won in righteous combat, with sangheili warriors, not with some conjurer's trick. He renewed his focus on crushing the adversaries in front of him. Only a direct order from the Arbiter himself would be enough to convince him to alter his mind.

 

He risked a quick glance at a remote display of the city of Sunaion. Nearly all of the fleet's gunships and dropships were converging on the city, desperate to push back the tide of chrome-colored abominations. Every member of the Swords of Sanghelios recognized the importance of their leader; the Arbiter needed to survive. The Arbiter himself had gone quiet, unable to speak in the middle of the anarchic assault.

 

A part of the fleetmaster, which he refused to listen to, dearly wished that his leader was not so committed to entering combat personally.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Locke bit back a swear as enemy fire poured over the side of the derelict Spirit, scoring his armor in several places. He let himself fall back to the deck since lying prone on the top of the dead dropship was no longer a viable option. He could feel flashbacks to Waterloo hovering just on the edges of his consciousness—he committed every micro-gram of his will to focusing on the here and now. Losing himself in memory in the middle of a battle would be a death sentence.

 

A pair of Soldiers moved around his cover. Fireteam Osiris had been forced to separate from him and they were currently pinned down by another group of Soldiers several meters away. The Swords forces near him were busy, meaning he was the only one to respond to the flanking maneuver. He fell to a knee, proving a minimal target profile while still retaining mobility, and executed precision fire with his Battle Rifle.

 

An enemy fell. The blast of its death knocked its comrade off balance. Locke rushed forward and stabbed his combat knife into the Soldier's visor before quickly withdrawing the blade and kicking the Soldier away to die harmlessly out of range. His heart pounded as he realized he had rushed out of cover to kill an enemy, a kind that exploded upon death, with a melee weapon. He tried to tell himself he was simply conserving ammo—that he wasn't on the verge of losing it due to recent revelations and the effects of prolonged combat and chronic fatigue.

 

He had almost succeeded when a trio of Soldiers came into view. Locke's shield was still inoperable since the Hunter's attack. He had no chance.

 

Just before they could deliver the killshot, 2 of the Soldiers began convulsing uncontrollably. It took Locke a moment to realize that the Soldier in the rear, one of their SAW gunners, had opened fire on it own comrades. No...it was still firing straight at Locke even after its compatriots were dust. It seemed a lack of trigger discipline, if not just plain common sense, was a defect of this new model.

 

An idea popped into Locke's head. Hoping for a repeat of this most recent incompetence, he sprinted straight toward his besieged subordinates. Just as he was about to run directly into the cross-fire, Locke went into a baseball slide, the hard-light projectiles passing overhead as his armor scraped over the hard-light deck. As hoped, the SAW gunner kept tracking Locke with his weapon, never taking its finger off of whatever it called a trigger.

 

The automatic weapon raked through the clustered Soldiers.

 

Several of them, their armor already weakened by the Spartans, exploded, utterly shattering their ramshackle formation. The survivors were eliminated before they could rally, followed by the gunner.

 

“Much obliged, Lead,” Buck commed. Locke nodded as he got to his feet.

 

Just like on Meridian, the Soldiers seemed to have very limited control over their teleportation technology. None of the Spartans had seen the tell-tale blue flash for what felt like hours. If they could just outlast their enemy...

 

“Spartans!” the Arbiter shouted, motioning for them to join him and his surviving guard near the base of the pyramid. Locke's heart pounded in his chest. What was he going to do?

 

He motioned Osiris forward. The human supersoldiers joined the Arbiter in his oasis of relative security in the wasteland that was the Central Pylon. Locke felt his finger hovering just outside the trigger guard on his rifle. His duty, his dedication to his superiors and the humanity they were meant to serve, was pulling him towards his orders.

 

The ONI Agent was saved from his momentary crisis by the appearance of a blue glow just in front of the ramp leading to the control console. Osiris and the Swords readied themselves behind cover, expecting another round of Soldier reinforcements.

 

Instead, a Promethean Knight appeared.

 

Its energy weapon began glowing a familiar red.

 

“Scatter!!” Locke shouted at the top of his lungs.

 

An orb of red energy flew out of the Promethean's weapon. A group of sangheili warriors were consumed in alien flame, along with the cover they had been crouching behind. The hard-light deck shone pure white where the weapon hit, all artificial texture gone, the Forerunner technology struggling to remain solid in the face of its own race's weaponry.

 

Fire rained down upon the alien juggernaut. Sangheili from all sides hosed it down with plasma fire. It got to the point where the Promethean was practically obscured by the sheer volume of fire flying towards it.

 

None of it succeeded in so much as scratching the Forerunner super-combat drone's armor as it methodically cleansed the courtyard of the aliens who had dared intrude on its masters' domain.

 

One group of sangheili were engaged in close quarters combat with a group of Soldiers. The Promethean seemed not to care about its supposed allies. It fired its weapon and incinerated all of them without missing a beat.

 

This was bad. With the Buzzards clouding the sky, it was almost impossible to get reinforcements in to replenish the Swords' ranks. The Arbiter's troops had been dwindling since the ziggurat separated into orbiting fragments; victory had only been assured by the fact that the Soldiers were even more decimated by the relatively brief combat. The Promethean was well on its way to correcting that disparity.

 

Locke's mind raced with the absolute focus of secret desperation. They needed to take that thing down, now. They didn't have the luxury of an air strike this time. They didn't have have a tank, either, which would be his second choice. What, then?

 

The drone's energy shield flared. Locke turned and saw Tanaka hefting one of the Soldiers' Spartan Laser analogues. She fired again, draining the Promethean's shields significantly, before red flames started shooting out of the sides of the weapon and she ditched it. Cursing inwardly, Locke ordered his subordinates to focus fire on the enemy's head. The energy shield actually seemed close to failure.

 

That, unfortunately, was of little comfort. There was only a single group of friendly warriors left: the Arbiter's. Time slowed as the Forerunner war machine fired once again and eliminated the last sangheili infantry in the center of the ancient city. The personal guard of the Arbiter himself. A storm of conflicting emotions raged in Locke's soul...until he realized that the sangheili head of state had not been visible anywhere just prior to the destruction.

 

“For Sanghelios!!”

 

The Arbiter leaped from a piece of concealment less than 2 meters from the Promethean. He landed on top of his adversary, wrapped his left arm around its shoulders, and used his right to plunge his energy sword deep into his enemy's head, depleting the last of its shield and annihilating its processing center in one stroke.

 

The Promethean jerked to a halt. It froze in place as if someone had hit its pause button.

 

Recognizing the danger, the Arbiter pressed his hoofs against the thing's thorax and shoved off with all of his might, pulling his blade with him. He hit the ground, rolled, and moved to sprint—

 

The Promethean exploded.

 

A wave of blindingly bright fire rushed outward faster than even a Spartan's eye could see. The Arbiter, not able to get out of range of the blast, was flung through the air. His energy shield depleted instantly, leaving his armor to take the heat and impact as he collided with the downed Spirit. He crumpled to the deck in a motionless heap.

 

“Wretched intruder...” a booming, distantly familiar voice opined.

 

An enormous humanoid figure walked into view. The flash of its teleportation must have gone unnoticed due to the Promethean's death. It was armored, its figure clearly styled after a medieval European knight. It walked with a powerful stride that somehow succeeded in conveying professional strength and martial prowess as well as sneering superiority and dismissal. The members of Fireteam Osiris recognized him instantly.

 

The Warden Eternal. The creature that had attacked both them and Blue Team in the heart of the Forerunner ruins beneath Meridian.

 

The wanna-be knight's left arm, destroyed in its previous fight with the Spartans, had been replaced. The new piece was jet black and gave the Warden an asymmetrical appearance. The rest of his body was chrome over black 'flesh', as it had been before. He reached down with his new arm and grasped the Arbiter by the sangheili's now-mangled armor. The high-tech longsword was raised high into the air as the Warden readied his weapon for a decapitating stroke.

 

_Oh, no..._

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The fragment slowed to a halt as Blue Team reached its summit. They were now within possible leaping distance of the central fragment, which they could see below them. The Master Chief activated the zoom function on his visor, hoping to gain more intel about the situation they would be literally falling into.

 

Only to zero in on Fireteam Osiris.

 

There he was. Jameson Locke. The Agent of ONI that had taken so much from him...and the one the Chief had endangered all of humanity to kill in his foolhardy assassination attempt.

 

This wasn't like that disgrace of a mission, though. Locke was in their way. There was little chance he would just stand by as Blue Team accessed the control center. It would make sense to eliminate him now, while they had the element of surprise. It made sense...

 

“Blue Lead! Contact!” Fred commed. The Chief deactivated his zoom and raised his rifle, pivoting towards the red blip he now noticed on his motion tracker.

 

A silver sphere, covered in grooves and incomprehensible designs and surrounded by a framework of curved alien metal, rose into view. In the 'front' of the sphere was a purple glowing optic that was aimed directly at the Master Chief.

 

“Reclaimer!” it said in a cheerful, feminine voice. The Chief instantly recognized it as a Monitor, the autonomous administrative units that were assigned to oversee various installations in the absence of an actual Forerunner. The Spartans gripped their weapons tighter and prepared to fire. The last Monitor they had encountered had deteriorated over its lifespan, gone insane, and tried to kill them all. Still, this one was not attacking, and 343 Guilty Spark had been useful for a time. The Chief sent a signal to hold fire.

 

The Monitor continued, oblivious to their inner concerns. “I am so happy to finally locate you! Have you come to stop Cortana?”

 

_That_ threw them all for a loop. The other members of Blue Team seemed confused. John, on the other hand...

 

An indignant anger rose in the Chief's chest. “Are you suggesting that Cortana is responsible for all of this?” he growled.

 

“Oh, dear,” the Monitor said in an apologetic tone. “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense. To be perfectly fair, I am unsure as to the exact motives for her actions. She has not been forthcoming with details. Perhaps she would be more willing to speak to you?” This answer was not enough to satisfy the Chief. For some reason, such thoughts made him far angrier than they should considering how cooperative the AI seemed to be. He was about to cut the alien AI down to size, perhaps literally as well as figuratively, when, true to form, the Monitor interrupted him by continuing to talk.

 

“Oh, where are my manners! I am 031 Exuberant Witness, Monitor of the Genesis installation. I came here to find the one Cortana has indicated great concern and desire for. It is my hope that you can convince her to abandon whatever her irrational agenda is and return control of my installation to me.”

 

“Wait,” the Chief interrupted. “she took over your installation?”

 

“Oh, yes,” the Monitor, 'Exuberant Witness', replied. “She arrived several of your months ago and quickly took control of the entire world from me. I was, shamefully, unprepared for such an assault. I assumed her to be harmless and thus did not act until it was too late. She is very resourceful when it comes to going places she is told to forgo and doing that which is forbidden to her.”

 

_That_ did actually sound like Cortana.

 

“It was with great effort that I managed to make this journey at all,” Exuberant Witness explained. “I could only do so by convincing her, in one of her rare moments of communication, that I would be able to locate you and convey you to her. Oh—that reminds me,” she said, turning away from the others.

 

An arc of blue lightning shot out from Witness' eye. Only their fire-forged discipline kept the Spartans from opening up with their weapons before they noticed the electrical discharge stop in dead air less than a meter from the Monitor's form. A sphere of energy, shining a familiar blue, appeared at the termination point of the lightning. It rapidly expanded, forming a disc approximately 3 meters across.

 

The surface of the disc shimmered briefly before an image materialized upon it. A scenic view of a lush jungle landscape was depicted. What appeared to be a Forerunner structure was in the foreground of the shot, indicating it had been recorded from the top of some kind of outpost of the ancient aliens.

 

The Master Chief wasn't an idiot. He knew right away what this was most likely to be.

 

“So,” he said, turning to the Monitor, “if we walk through this we'll appear at this 'Genesis' place?”

 

“That is correct, Reclaimer,” Exuberant Witness replied in her cheerful voice. Her tone was more disturbing than comforting, given Guilty Spark's penchant for insane giggling and his similarly cheerful business-like demeanor. “I caution you to hurry, however. The Guardian will awaken soon and I am uncertain for what duration I will be able to maintain a portal with the interference its presence invariably creates.”

 

“Blue One, can you confirm?” the Chief commed. He wasn't about to just trust whatever this thing said. Not after everything the Forerunners had, albeit accidentally, put them through. Fred nodded and pulled out his Forerunner compad. A few minutes of work determined that Witness was using Sunaion systems to create the portal and that, yes, it led to a facility named 'Genesis'.

 

The Spartans glanced at each other. Nods were exchanged. This was what they had signed up for, after all; what they had wanted since they started this insane mission. Additionally, this was John's chance to prove Cortana's innocence. He glanced back at the control fragment, curiosity driving him to get one last look.

 

A Promethean Knight was engaging Osiris and their allies. The Forerunner war machine finished off the last of the Swords of Sanghelios and began advancing upon the Spartan IVs. It seemed the Chief didn't need to bother in the first place; the Promethean would finish Locke off for him.

 

The Arbiter leaped out from behind cover. The Chief's eyebrows shot up behind his visor as he witnessed the sangheili successfully engage a Promethean Knight in melee combat. It seemed that the Master Chief wasn't the only one that could pull off the impossible.

 

The Promethean exploded, flinging the Arbiter through the air.

 

Time slowed to a crawl as the Chief saw the sangheili head of state fly into the side of a derelict Spirit. Then the Warden Eternal appeared. The bizarre combat construct advanced on the Arbiter, its intent clear.

 

Everything the Master Chief had learned in his stay on the sangheili homeworld rushed in on him at once. All of the politics, the sheer level to which the entire Swords of Sanghelios movement depended upon the Arbiter, the hopes and dreams of 'Khebrem and his people. The Chief knew that if the Arbiter died here, everything he had built was likely to fall apart, Storm Covenant or no. He realized, at last, how devastated the sangheili had been by the War—how similar their plight was to humanity's.

 

The portal glowed brightly at the Master Chief's side. His mission, his desire, was right there. The gleaming world on the other side, full of promise, was beckoning to him. All it would take was a single step...

 

John turned away from it.

 

A drone gunship flew past the control fragment. The Chief mentally plotted its course and came up with a plan. “Blue Team, prepare for vehicular transit.” he commed.

 

A chorus of acknowledgment lights winked on his HUD, the rest of Blue Team having seen the same thing he had. The Chief felt indescribable relief—his siblings understood. A clarity of purpose he had not held in months welcomed him into its embrace and he set upon his task with renewed energy.

 

The gunship was moving into position. The Chief stowed his rifle on his back and used his augmented intellect to plot and time his exact course. Just...about...

 

The Chief sprinted forward. He tensed his legs in preparation for his jump.

 

He launched into the air. With the superhuman precision he flew toward his unwary target, the gunship no doubt hoping to perform a low-altitude strafing run. The Spartan arced slightly, his heart pounding at the knowledge that if anything went wrong he would crash into the waves below and be crushed by the water pressure of the deep ocean.

 

The Master Chief crashed into the drone's roof. His hands felt like they were about to be wrenched off his arms and his feet off of his legs as he used both to secure himself to the roof of the vessel. He then utilized a secret that he remembered from the Light Rifle he had found on Meridian: Forerunner technology was psychic.

 

With the sheer force of his will the Chief commanded the gunship to accept him into its interior. A blue flash signaled his teleportation inside. To its credit the pilot, a Soldier much like those on the surface below, only hesitated in shock for a moment before lunging at the Spartan with its talons. The Chief redirected the blow into the side of the cockpit and grabbed what he took to be a joystick.

 

The grip gave the Spartan instant mental access to the entirety of the gunship's functions. He once again 'thought' his will into being and the Soldier, already moving to strike again, was teleported out of its own ship.

 

A view of the exterior was projected onto the front of the cockpit. The Chief briefly noted the drone falling toward the ocean surface far behind him. Once again, he had to marvel at the blind aggression of these artificial warriors. The thing could easily have jettisoned the Chief if it had acted immediately. Instead, it had gone for the direct assault. Amateurish. He put these thoughts out of his mind as he turned his newly acquired transportation back toward his team's fragment.

 

They still had a job to do.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

This was it. The Arbiter, last hope of the sangheili race, was about to die. ONI's will was about to be achieved. Best of all, he would not have to die by human hands, so the clandestine organization would avoid all blame for the incident. The part of Locke that was still an ONI Agent rejoiced at the fortuitous turn of events.

 

That part was drowned out completely.

 

Locke was not listening to it. He wasn't listening to anything that was currently happening. He was light-years away and months in the past. He was back on Meridian.

 

He was seeing Security Officers fall dead around him, their lives given to protect their people from a threat Locke had brought upon them.

 

He was seeing the bodies of countless civilians littering the streets, knowing that were it not for him, they might have lived.

 

He was seeing the warped, pixellated form Governor Sloan, just before Locke uploaded the viruses that would destroy him and prevent the defensive turrets from coming online.

 

Memory had finally succeeded in dragging him down.

 

Slowly, confusingly, as if it were a dream, Locke felt himself drift back to the present. Sunaion was around him again. But...it was all wrong. The bodies around him weren't sangheili, they were human. The wreckage wasn't Spirits and plasma weaponry, but Pelicans and rifles.

 

The person about to be executed by the Warden was not the Arbiter, but Governor Sloan.

 

Locke rose out of cover with a bestial roar.

 

The human supersoldier unleashed his full fury upon the abomination. He unloaded his Battle Rifle onto his enemy, charging ahead, intent on forcing him to divert his attention. It would not be the same this time. Not if Jameson Locke had anything to say about it.

 

As hoped, the Warden dropped his prey and turned to face the approaching threat. The sword, already raised, swung down, the super-drone placing his left hand behind his right on the hilt as the weapon swung downward. Locke used his reflexes to dodge the blow.

 

Then, the swordsman did something unexpected. The Warden used his newer arm to grasp the sword half-way down the blade. Using the new point of leverage, he swung the weapon in rapid swipes as if it were a bladed staff. Caught off-guard by the new maneuver, the Spartan IV was only able to successfully dodge for a few more seconds.

 

The blade slashed Locke's helmet.

 

The entire front of the headgear was split in half. A searing pain overwhelmed Locke as the alien weapon burned and cut his flesh. Only sheer luck saved him from having his entire head destroyed, the blade coming just short of penetrating his skull. As it was, a laceration was formed diagonally across his face, blinding him in his left eye and utterly ruining his visor.

 

He lost consciousness almost instantly.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

A stream of particularly vulgar expletives ran out of Tanaka's mouth as she saw her squadleader go down.

 

“Vale, get its attention!” she commed. Normally, she'd play center stage herself, but she remembered what had happened the last time they fought this Lancelot-wannabe. Her thick armor would do no good here. Only someone with Vale's maneuverability would stand a chance. “Buck, let's finish off the last of this freak's backup.” Buck confirmed her directive. Tanaka kept tabs on the big freak in her peripheral vision; she was going to focus on the threats she could deal with first, but she wasn't about to ignore the main challenge.

 

A large group of Soldiers was advancing from the other side of the pyramid. Tanaka opened up with her SAW, gunning down a few while forcing the rest into cover. She saw Buck suddenly materialize behind the entrenched hostiles and throw a fragmentation grenade into the middle of their formation. The survivors ran for new cover, their numbers diminished drastically.

 

A Soldier, one equipped with thruster discs, leaped behind Buck as his cloak was still in cooldown. Tanaka was about to shout a warning when a Beam Rifle round passed over Buck's shoulder and speared the hostile dead center in its visor. The stealth expert lunged out of range of his enemy's explosive demise. It seemed they had a sniper on their side; one of the Arbiter's people must have made it.

 

Tanaka focused on taking down the rest of the Soldier infantry. The pleasure she took in each kill combined with the added feeling of security knowing they had a guardian angel out there with a high-powered scope. They might actually survive this. She just hoped Vale could stall long enough for the rest of them to come up with a plan to take the Warden down.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_What in_ Space  _was he thinking?!_

 

Vale fired her assault rifle, trying to keep the Warden Eternal from executing her fallen squadleader.

The Warden, apparently aware of his seeming invulnerability to conventional weapons, reversed his grip on his sword and raised it high, with both hands on the hilt, preparing to drive it into Locke's motionless body.

 

An explosion rocked the courtyard. The blast was far enough away not to damage the Spartans, much less the Warden, but it did distract the construct from his task. Vale recognized the munition as belonging to a Buzzard gunship. She scanned the sky and quickly found one heading directly toward the central fragment.

 

_Is that...?_

 

A pair of Spartan IIs leaped off the roof of the gunship. She would swear she could feel one of them glare at her briefly before focusing their attention upon the Warden. It seemed that the ancient principle of 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' applied here as much as it did in that Forerunner complex beneath Meridian.

 

Gunfire bounced off of the Warden's hard-light armor plates. He raised his sword and pointed it at the humans that dared attack him. Remembering the energy blast that the Warden had thrown against Tanaka, Vale rushed to engage the enemy in close quarters combat. It was the only way to keep the super-drone from annihilating them all in short order.

 

Hopefully, the Spartan IIs would be enough to tip the balance in their favor...

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Kelly shook off her feelings of antipathy toward the burgundy-colored Spartan IV. This was no time to be holding grudges. She was about to move to engage the enemy once again when she noticed something that made her pause.

 

The Arbiter was lying on the ground a short distance away.

 

The alien was lying in a small pool of its own blood, its breathing was shallow, and even a medical novice like Kelly could tell that it was close to death.

 

Her response was almost total apathy. The Arbiter was neither a Spartan, whom she would genuinely care for on a personal level; nor a soldier, whom she would feel some camaraderie with; nor a civilian, whom she was duty bound to serve. He was an alien, and a sangheili to boot. She couldn't care less whether he bled out on some forsaken battlefield.

 

Then, Kelly remembered all she had learned since she got to this planet. She realized what the Arbiter's death would mean. Most of all, she remembered what Dr. Halsey had taught her, and what she and her siblings had decided upon Meridian.

 

They had to be better. Better than what they fought. Better than what they had been, before.

 

Kelly groaned in frustration as she went to save the Arbiter's life. She rushed to the alien's side and took out her medical equipment, including the sangheili biofoam she had kept for research purposes. Somehow, the dim feeling that her mother was smiling upon her did little to erase the annoyed frown she wore behind her visor.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The Warden Eternal was not going to die easy. He proved that as Fred and the burgundy Spartan IV—Vale, if he remembered the files Linda had researched correctly—desperately tried to keep ahead of his strikes.

 

Thankfully, Vale had an energy sword, given to her by a female sangheili warrior that now crouched to the side of the duelists, assisting Kelly in trying to stabilize the Arbiter. With a second combatant backing him up, Fred found it much easier to maneuver around the Warden and launch counter-strikes.

 

Unfortunately, the Warden had upgraded a bit since Meridian. His armor was now thicker, the seams tighter than before, and his new fighting style was making it harder to dodge. It seemed someone had finally bothered to research the proper technique for fighting with a longsword. Despite all of this, Fred still made good use of his melee expertise, and landed many strikes against his opponent.

 

Vale, lacking his experience and superior augmentations, made heavy use of her thrusters to stay ahead of the Warden's attacks. She paused and, deciding to try a repeat of her stunt on Meridian, pulsed her downward thrusters at full power and tried to leap clear over the Warden's head.

 

The Warden reversed his grip on the hilt of his sword and thrust upward. The weighted pommel impacted the flying Spartan, instantly depleting her shield and smashing several of the thrusters on her back.

 

Any cry of triumph was cut off as Vale, twisting in mid-air from the blow, grabbed the Warden's head and wrenched it back in her effort to hang on. The alien war-drone stumbled and tried to regain its balance. His Spartan passenger steadied herself with an arm around his neck and legs around his midsection, raised the energy sword, and plunged it into the rear of his neck seam.

 

The Warden screamed in agony.

 

The sword didn't go deep enough. The hard-light plates were 'forced' apart and seemed to shrink slightly from the strain, but the Warden finally was able to right himself and set his feet. He thrust his sword into the ground and an energy pulse rushed out, throwing Vale off before she could continue her attack.

 

Fred knew that the Spartan IV was out of the fight. Even if the pulse hadn't damaged her on its own, her now-destroyed thrusters wouldn't allow her to maneuver well enough to assist him in the duel. He needed to exploit the hole Vale had opened in his enemy's defenses.

 

The Warden had no intention of letting him do that. Every attempt Fred made to get behind his foe was met with a lightning-fast swipe of the longsword. Once again, Fred found himself desperately dodging, as even a parry threatened to wrench his arms from their sockets.

 

A wave of horror swept over the Spartan as he realized that he effectively had no advantage over his foe. Now that the Warden was actually using his weapon properly, speed was no longer on his side. The Warden had reach, power, _and_ speed over him. Fred struggled to keep ahead of the strikes.

 

Something. He needed something to tip the balance. Abruptly, the Warden swiped at Fred's legs. The Spartan jumped nimbly over the attack—

 

The pommel followed behind the blade and swatted Fred out of the air.

 

The chest-piece of his MJOLNIR armor dented as he was flung away. He landed and slid across the ground for several meters. His armor blared warnings about his new injuries and its automated biofoam injectors filled his body with the life-saving compound. His eyesight cleared just in time to see the Warden approaching his limp form and raising his blade for an overhand chop that would cleave the Spartan in two.

 

_No.._

 

Anger and refusal coursed through Fred. He would not fail here. Dr. Halsey had given her life to save him from this abomination last time. He would not allow that sacrifice to be in vain.

 

_NO!!_

 

The sword swung down. Fred rolled out of the way at the last fraction of a second.

 

Before his foe could lift his weapon to attack again, Fred had rolled onto his hands and feet and launched himself like a pouncing feline. His right boot landed on the hilt of the longsword. His left landed on the Warden's arm. He used his enemy's own body as a launching point to leap clear over his enemy just as Vale had done. Fred twisted vertically in mid air. He grabbed the Warden's head, using it as a lever to fall head-first directly onto the drone's back.

 

The full force of a falling Spartan's bulk drove 'The Doctor's Memory' through the neck-seam all the way up to the hilt.

 

The sword failed almost immediately, the blow being too much for the energy weapon to maintain, but the damage was done. The entire upper-back of the swordsman's torso was now exposed. It's hard-light armor had failed to shoulder the burden. Desperate to avoid damage, the super-drone turned toward its enemies, denying them an angle on his vulnerable spot.

 

A Beam Rifle shot punched through his back and into whatever passed for his heart.

 

The Warden jerked as if he were having a seizure. Fred managed to scramble a few meters away before his enemy exploded. Steam and smoke rushed outward from the relatively tame detonation, obscuring view of the mechanical enemy.

 

Fred, Vale, and the others present picked themselves up and readied their weapons. Just in case.

 

They needn't have worried. The Warden, while still alive, was in no state to attack them. He was on his knees, hard-light armor completely depleted, shriveled tatters of black 'flesh' hanging limply off of a glowing, crystalline skeletal structure. Its left arm had vanished, leaving an empty shoulder socket. A shining skull, its burning-orange sockets filled with a deep red light, regarded its foes with an inscrutable expression.

 

A crackling blue haze started to encompass the Warden. Arcs of blue lightning connected him to its edges. He was going to teleport away! NO!

 

A shape flew in from on high. The Warden's skull opened in a silent, terrified shriek and raised its remaining arm in a futile attempt at a shield. Everyone dove for cover.

 

A damaged Buzzard gunship slammed into the Warden Eternal, driving him into the deck and scraping him several meters across it and into a wall.

 

A massive explosion rocked the courtyard.

 

A fireball rushed outward, its brightness blinding anyone not protected by an automatically polarizing visor. The sheer force of the explosion pushed tens of corpses and numerous pieces of debris off the sides of the deck. Kelly and the female sangheili desperately tried to cover the Arbiter and keep him still to avoid additional damage. A massive cloud of steam rose into the air as the rainwater was flash-vaporized by the heat of the Warden's demise.

 

The blue glow was left behind and swiftly blinked out of existence, its purpose unfulfilled.

 

The smoke/steam cleared as the raging storm winds blew it away. The Master Chief rose to his feet, having bailed out of his transportation at the last second. He stood, proud and tall, seeming to pose with his rifle leaned against his shoulder like a scene straight off of a goddamn propaganda poster.

 

Fred was going to give his brother  _so_ much shit over that, later.

 

The members of Osiris and Blue Team stood and attempted to get their bearings. A quick scan showed them that all of the Soldier infantry had been eliminated. They were alone on the control fragment.

 

A deep, resonant, otherworldly sound issued out from beneath them. Beams of bright energy lanced out from each fragment, connecting the orbiting pieces in a ring and each one to the center, forming a wheel shape. The Spartans struggled to maintain their balance as the entire central fragment shook. Movement from the rest of the city drew their attention.

 

All of the pylons were rising higher into the air. Their hard-light platforms had all vanished, turning them into a forest of gray metal spires. They spread out as they rose, eventually forming a single layer thick ring with the control pyramid at its very center. This gargantuan outer ring, each spire kilometers-tall, became inter-connected by energy beams, a macroscopic replica of the Central Pylon fragments. Then, they all formed a connection with the inner, fragment ring.

 

A massive beam of blindingly bright energy shot downward from the former Central Pylon into the waves below. Slowly, like a scene out of a religious text, the water began to part, a massive pit forming in the waters of the ocean, deep as the sea floor and wide as the circumference of the outer ring.

 

“Blue One! You're up!” the Chief commed. Fred nodded and limped his way toward the pyramid.

 

His siblings moved to help him. John put Fred's right arm around his shoulder, Kelly put his left around hers. “I can—“

 

“Stow it, Blue One,” Kelly said in a private comm, not wanting any of the spectators to hear. Fred, wisely, decided not to press the issue. He knew his sister well enough not to push her on an issue of her family's health.

 

They reached the control console in short order. Fred quickly took out his Forerunner compad and interfaced it with the console, grateful for the universal nature of his favorite new toy. He was greeted with a labyrinthine collection of incomprehensible information. Once again, he had access, but no ability to understand.

 

A thunderous sound issued from the pit below. It sounded like a massive excavation charge. Fred desperately flipped through sections and what commands he understood, trying to find some way to reverse the process.

 

“Oh...my...” one of the Spartan IVs said. Fred glanced up. He wished he hadn't.

 

A Guardian passed by the constellation that used to be the Central Pylon. First, came the skull-like head. Then, the torso, covered in a countless number of constantly shifting plates, spelling out ancient text that he had no ability to understand, but made him feel like a tiny speck nonetheless. Next was the segmented lower section, as if the top was a moth in mid-transformation.

 

Furthering that analogy, the Guardian's 'wings' spread out as it cleared the sea that had been its prison for millenia. The enormous construct paused.

  
A pulse issued out from its form. The energy shields of all of the Spartans flared and all un-shielded tech was instantly fried by the EMP. It's freedom obtained and its task done, the Guardian rose into the air, moving to pass through the battle in space with as little interest as it had showed the _Infinity_ Task Group.

 

“S...Spartans...” an alien voice said, weakly, over the comms. Fred glanced down to where the Arbiter lay. He was being attended to by the female sangheili, Kelly having moved, albeit reluctantly, to treat Locke for his injuries. Fred's injuries weren't pressing (for a Spartan. The damage to his internal organs would be fatal to a normal human) and he wasn't about to be taken out of the fight at the 11th hour, so Kelly had moved on. Blue Team's medic returned to the alien head of state to ensure he didn't kill himself by moving.

 

The Spartans, minus Fred, crowded round, most of them facing outward to avoid any surprises. It seemed their truce was still on. The Arbiter continued, “the...f-fleet...in battle?”

 

“Correct,” the Chief said, kneeling next to the fallen alien. His body language was awkward, indicating he was unsure what to do. Strange. Fred had only ever seen this side of his leader outside battle, in social situations.

 

“Get...get me a channel...to my fleetmaster,” the Arbiter croaked. The Chief nodded, looking to Fred. This was really more Linda's thing, but she was stuck providing covering fire from the orbiting fragments, and he had the most technical expertise. He opened a comm channel, following the Arbiter's instructions to contact the fleet.

 

“Release...” he croaked. The Arbiter rallied himself before saying, in a clear and authoritative tone, “release the contingency!”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

A hologram shimmered into existence on the armrest of Captain Lasky's command chair.

 

“We have received the signal, sir,” Roland informed him. Lasky smiled grimly. It seemed the sangheili had finally gotten over their reluctance to share the glory with their human allies.

 

It was understandable on some level that the Arbiter desired his people to free themselves without outside aid, at least publicly. It would make for powerful propaganda. Still, with a Guardian about to activate, it had been all the human naval officer could do not to pull his hair out as he watched events play out on the remote feeds.

 

“Take us in,” he ordered.

 

The UNSC _Infinity_ engaged its slipspace drive. The relatively brief journey from the edge of the solar system to just outside the naval battle over Sanghelios took just under a minute. Lasky set aside his continual amazement at the speed and precision of his new vessel.

 

Swords and Storm ships were engaging each other. Everything from Super-Carriers to vacuum-rated Banshees were flying around, firing guided balls of super-heated plasma at each other. More interesting were the numerous Buzzard gunships. Captain Lasky ordered his Broadswords to engage the Storm forces, but otherwise ignored them. There was another target that occupied his attention.

 

The Guardian was entering high orbit. Lasky knew that this wasn't the same construct that had so grievously wounded his precious ship above Meridian. Still, it looked similar enough that he was willing to consider this a rematch. He pressed a button, opening the hard-line comm to his Electronic Warfare section.

 

“Dr. Hamilton, engage EW assault,” he ordered, hoping that, this time, it would be enough.

 

The Guardian paused and its pieces began to shudder, like last time. It rallied after a moment, again like last time. Unlike last time, its pieces continued to rattle erratically, the symbols on its 'chest' remaining an anarchic mess instead of alien script. The Guardian was unable to shrug off the assault as it had before. It seemed Lord Hood's resources had been better than ONI's. The advantage seemed like it would hold.

 

If not, well...he'd just have to show the world that Spartans weren't the only ones capable of doing the impossible.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_Got it!_

 

Finally, Fred had managed to access the Guardian's systems. Well... _access_ might be a bit generous. He could see readouts concerning the war machine, most of which he couldn't make any sense of, but he still wasn't sure how to hurt the damn thing. It could take hours to sort this out.

 

A familiar chittering drew the Spartan's attention. He turned to see multiple Swords dropships landing in the courtyard, the aerial battle against the Buzzards apparently having been won. Sangheili medics were finally tending to the Arbiter, and engineering staff were moving to access the control console. Including his new... _friend_ ...the huragok, Reaches-Far-Quickly.

 

Fred's immediate response was to reach for his weapons. The tech behind him was potentially the most powerful Forerunner gear ever recovered. Every bit of training he had ever been given screamed that it had to be in human hands alone. His superiors had been clear—

 

His superiors in ONI.

 

That thought made him pause. As did the increase in flashes from the battle above as the Guardian started laying waste to the ships in orbit. The huragok paused in front of him, hovering inquisitively.

 

_Fuck it._

 

“Give me a hand, here.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Shields at 57%,” Roland informed him. Captain Lasky kept his face neutral for the benefit of his crew. Inwardly, he was equal parts furious, exasperated, and frightened.

 

Another plasma torpedo impacted the _Infinity_ 's shields _._ It seemed that the Storm viewed the human ship's arrival as an affront that outweighed all other matters. Every last one of their ships had turned to engage Lasky's vessel.

 

This was despite the fact that the Guardian wasn't showing any discretion in its rampage. The gravity weapons that had destroyed the human frigates over Meridian were swallowing up ships left and right. Both the Swords and the Storm were losing capital ships and carriers.

 

The Swords of Sanghelios fleet was, frustratingly, less focused than their enemies. Half of them were engaging the remaining Storm vessels while the other was firing ineffectually at the Guardian. Lasky opened a channel to the flagship.

 

“Captain Lasky to Fleetmaster 'Varan,” he commed, “Requesting you provide cover for the _Infinity_ as we move to engage primary target.”

 

“Negative, Shipmaster Lasky,” came the reply. “This is _our_ fight. We shall not leave any part of it to you alone.”

 

Lasky suppressed a growl of frustration. “Fleetmaster, my ship is the only vessel in this star-system that has the firepower to hurt that thing,” he reasoned. He shifted gears to diplomatic mode, continuing, “I understand your warrior's pride, but surely victory in this case is worth accepting help. Didn't one of your prophets once say, 'Only a fool refuses a hand offered in aid, while a sword swings for his head.' ?”

 

There was a pause. Lasky struggled not to pace the floor as he hoped, prayed, practically demanded that all the work he had put into understanding humanity's tepid allies would bear fruit.

 

“Understood...and concurred, shipmaster,” came the response. The Swords vessels broke off their engagement of the Guardian and focused on their more mortal adversaries. The Captain breathed a sigh of relief as the fire directed toward the _Infinity_ let up significantly. He turned his full attention to the Guardian.

 

A Storm super-carrier, the last in that organization's fleet, was sucked into a miniature black hole. The Guardian, still looking like it was having a seizure, suddenly oriented itself to look directly at the _Infinity_. In a terrifying echo of the 'Battle' of Meridian, what appeared to be lightning started arcing across the construct's wings. A ball of blinding energy started gathering in front of its center mass.

 

“Prepare for evasive mane—,” Lasky's order was cut off as the energy sphere abruptly winked out of existence. The Guardian started truly shaking now, its wings moving erratically, looking like a bird flailing to escape some danger. The ethereal lights that filled the seams of the creature shone so bright the screens struggled to tone it down to visible levels. Most bizarrely of all, the 'skull' that was its head started...opening its jaws, revealing a portion of a crystalline structure underneath.

 

“Divert power from the shields and give me a firing solution on the construct's mouth with the primary coils!” Captain Lasky shouted. He knew a weak-point when he saw one. A red circle started closing in on the target on his screen.

 

“Solution achieved,” his weapons officer stated.

 

“Fire!!”

 

The entire ship shuddered as 2 Super-MAC rounds were magnetically launched out of barrels running the length of the 5.7 kilometer-long ship. The 3,000 ton ferric tungsten rounds flew at 4% the speed of light and, guided by Roland's flawless calculations, both struck deep in the Guardian's 'throat'.

 

A titanic explosion filled the sky over Sanghelios.

 

In the split-second before the flash overloaded the ship's sensors, Lasky would swear he could see the Guardian's head explode into pieces. He couldn't be sure, though, as the sheer force of the explosion was clear proof that the Guardian itself had detonated in its death throws.

 

Everything within 1,000 kilometers was instantly vaporized by the blast. Anyone on the planet looking upward was permanently blinded by the sheer intensity of the flash. A wave of all possible kinds of radiation issued outward, lethally poisoning the crews of any ships whose hulls had been breached. Sensors were overloaded and fried throughout the star system.

 

It took the better part of a minute for the _Infinity_ to get its eyesight back. When it did, Lasky was greeted by friendly skies. He sat back in his chair, overcome by exhausted relief.

 

They'd done it.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“We did it!” Fred shouted, resisting the urge to try to high-five Reaches-Far-Quickly. The alien engineer twittered excitedly from its place next to the control console, its tentacles still attached to the device and allowing it to directly interface with the Forerunner systems. They had sown enough chaos within the Guardian's inner processes to open up a weak-point which the ships above had been able to exploit. Fred closed down the Forerunner compad in relief.

 

That was one task done, at least.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The fight on Sanghelios was over.

 

At least, it was for the Master Chief. The Arbiter was stabilized and had been evacuated on a medical transport to the nearest field hospital. The Storm Covenant had been thoroughly defeated and no longer warranted their immediate attention. The members of Blue Team were regrouped, Linda having been picked up and dropped off by a Swords Phantom. Even the former city of Sunaion seemed to be shutting down, the energy beams connecting its pylons having gone dormant after the launch of the Guardian. It was time to continue the mission.

 

_Speak of the devil..._

 

The Monitor, 031 Exuberant Witness, hovered into view. The sangheili present reacted with awe, the more pious among them falling to their knees before what their faith deemed to be an 'Oracle'. The others simply kept their weapons ready and watched with awed fascination as the Forerunner AI approached the Master Chief.

 

“Oh, my!” she said, sounding for all the world as if she was out of breath. “That was most exhilarating! I have never witnessed direct combat before! You are victorious, Reclaimer! At least...I presume you are?” The Monitor tilted slightly as if perplexed. “I was never given much instruction in the aspects of warfare. There are fewer of your enemies than there were before, which I presume was your intention?”

 

The Chief knew first-hand that things could go off-track, fast. He moved to head off that out-of-control transport. “Focus, Exuberant Witness. Can you open another portal to Genesis?”

 

The purple light in the Monitor's 'eye' flashed in intensity. “I believe so, Reclaimer. However, due to the interference of the battle, I can only bring 1, perhaps 2 individuals there. Once we have arrived I should be able to use my Installation's systems to transit as many as you like.”

 

“Copy. Get it ready,” the Chief ordered. He turned toward his squad. “Blue Two, you're with me. Blue Three, look after Blue One,” he ordered. Fred's injuries were significant enough that, as much as he hated splitting his team, the Chief wasn't willing to risk him. Kelly would best know how to oversee his treatment. Additionally, Linda would be better suited to operating independently if they got separated. His squadmates accepted his orders with quiet professionalism.

 

The Monitor created another circular portal. The lush landscape he had witnessed before once again appeared. The Chief approached it, reached out his hand, and—

 

Jameson Locke tackled him from behind. The 2 supersoldiers hit the portal...and vanished.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. That was a beast to write. 
> 
> Note: This is probably the most important chapter of this fic, so I took my time with it. Sorry for the wait, guys. 
> 
> Note: This is the point at which both characters regain their own self-determination. They make a conscious (well, semi-conscious in Locke's case), moral choice rather than blindly following what their leaders tell them to do. This is what I've been building to this entire fic. So, uh...feedback?
> 
> Note: I struggled a bit with whether or not to open this chapter with a quote from Bioshock: “A man chooses, a slave obeys.” I wanted to include it to reinforce the theme of the characters reclaiming their lost humanity. That's why I named the fic Halo 5: Reclamation, after all, and I'm worried I may not have been clear enough about that theme in the text itself. I ultimately decided against it because none of the other chapters started with a quote, let alone one from an early 21st Century video game. What do you guys think?
> 
> Note: I'm worried about the pacing of this chapter. Just having 20 straight pages of battles wouldn't work, so I tried to have a steady escalation of tension with some breaks to let the reader breathe. How did I do?
> 
> Note: I struggled a bit to give everyone something to do in the final battle. I didn't want anyone to come off as useless or extraneous. This was harder than expected, especially since I wanted to keep this focused on the 2 main characters, but also not screw any of the side characters out of screen time. 
> 
> Note: The Warden Eternal's new fighting style is based on actual techniques for using a European longsword. I recommend watching the film 'Ironclad' if you want to see a depiction of it in a pretty good action movie. 
> 
> Note: Next up: the conclusion.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly


	40. Ch 39 Goodbyes and New Beginnings

Chapter 39: Goodbyes and New Beginnings

 

Warm sunlight filtered through the polarized visor. The Master Chief blinked as he drifted back to consciousness. This didn't feel like waking from cryo-sleep. Where was he?

 

The memories of the past few months rushed back in on the Spartan. He was on his feet in a fraction of a second, scanning the environment and trying to get his bearings. The first thing he noticed was that his rifle was missing. He must have lost it in whatever happened during, or after, the journey. He drew his sidearm and kept it at the ready as he cleared the area.

 

The second thing he noticed was that he was alone; neither the Monitor nor whatever had tackled him from behind were detectable. Something had very clearly gone wrong. He didn't think Exuberant Witness had betrayed him—for one thing, it made no sense not to at least restrain him rather than leaving him fully mobile in a random field—but that might not be true of whoever was currently in charge here, wherever 'here' was.

 

Third, he determined was that he was on some kind of Forerunner artificial world. He could see the curved 'roof' that indicated he was standing on the inside of a spherical Installation, like an inverse of a natural planet. It matched descriptions of the Forerunner facility within the planet Onyx that his siblings had been stuck while he was separated from them. He wondered if this, too, was some kind of physics defying miracle of alien science. Regardless of that, the grassy field he was currently standing in and the forest that surrounded it were typical of Forerunner facilities. The ancient galaxy-conquerors must have been quite the gardeners in their spare time. The final thing the Chief noticed was, perhaps, the most significant of all.

 

There were Guardians in the sky.

 

As in, more than one.

 

Dozens of them, in fact, all crowded together in the center of the inverted sphere, a safe distance away from the artificial star providing light and heat and probably less than a hundred kilometers apart. Varied landscapes could be glimpsed on the concave surface beyond them. Another of the titanic war machines emerged from a portal as he was looking. The Chief suddenly felt very small as he realized the sheer power of what had been assembled here. Just one of these things had been nigh-unstoppable. If they found a way to resist the tampering that had undone the Guardian over Sunaion, a level of adaptability even less than that showed by the Soldiers, then a fleet of them could burn the galaxy without taking a dent.

 

The Master Chief shook himself out of his trance. He forced himself to look at this as just another challenge to be overcome, as he had done with countless supposedly 'impossible' tasks in his career. The presence of the Guardians suggested that he was on the correct world, at least. He tried to raise someone on the comms, but to no avail. It seemed he was on his own again.

 

During his light recon of the area, the Chief had noticed an enormous pyramidal structure in the distance, stretching slightly onto what could be considered the 'wall' from his current point of view. If Genesis followed standard Forerunner design conventions, that would be where he would find the Control Center. He set out immediately.

 

The journey took him several hours. The trip itself wasn't particularly challenging. The gravity was Earth-normal, the air was breathable, and the terrain was like any deciduous forest on a human terraformed world.

 

The only thing that held him up was caution. Something kept screaming at him that he was being shadowed the whole way there. His sensors weren't showing anything but the Chief hadn't survived this long by ignoring his instincts. He was constantly on the lookout for an ambush. This meant occasionally doubling back to avoid any obvious killzones, as well as frequently pausing or ducking into hiding spots to try to catch his stalkers.

 

Nothing. Several times he thought he saw a whisper on his motion tracker but there was never anything concrete. Maybe it really was just nerves.

 

_Right_ , he thought sarcastically. He gripped his sidearm tighter.

 

Eventually, the Chief approached a hill. Beyond that hill was a valley that contained the base of the pyramid. He went prone and crawled to the crest. The sight below was not as terrifying as that of the Guardians above, but it still chilled his blood by several degrees.

 

The valley was full of Soldiers. Rank after rank of the chrome-colored, humanoid combat drones were lined up below him. There were multiple armies' worth down there, thousands upon thousands of them. They were diverse, too, with every variant he had seen as well as several more. Lumbering behemoths clearly based upon the Hunters moved about, their smaller brethren instinctively making room for them. What appeared to be snipers stalked, cat-like, in 2-person teams. A slender model moved silently about, its armor so thin that it looked gray at first due to the black under-layer showing through the chrome hard-light armor. The Master Chief could not discern the purpose of these small-fries, but it had to be significant to compensate for their absurdly thin armor. A new pilot model, perhaps? Whatever the case, it was clear that the enemy was evolving, fast.

 

The area itself had clearly once been full of foliage. No longer. What space wasn't taken up by Soldier infantry, buzzards, and assorted vehicles was occupied by some kind of alien factory that was cranking out more of them by the score. This one location could manufacture millions of them per day if it was able to keep up this pace. The display of industrial proficiency was enough to give the Spartan chills.

 

A river flowed through the area, poisoned black by some kind of industrial runoff. What plant life remained was withered and sickly. The soil varied from black to multi-colored patches that had clearly been poisoned by chemicals. The entire area would probably be uninhabitable soon. A ravine at the far end served as an exit through which a continuous stream of death machines flowed out; its sides were as bare and sickly as the heart of the valley itself.

 

This was going to be tricky. The Master Chief crawled backward and tried to come up with a plan. He needed to get past the Soldiers to the pyramid without being seen. A cloak would have helped, but even if he'd had one there would be little chance he could work his way through that many hostile units without being spotted. He could understand why Exuberant Witness would have so much trouble taking back her Installation.

 

Tactical retreat, then. The Chief would have to do more recon, hopefully locate the Monitor and come up with some kind of way through.

 

A full squad of Soldiers de-cloaked around him. That explained the small-fry models, then.

 

The Master Chief instantly fell into position, centering his pistol on the nearest hostile and searching for a route out of the ambush. The Soldiers must have developed their own cloaked units after seeing the member of Fireteam Osiris in action. They must have been the ones stalking him. Things kept getting better by the second.

 

Except...the Soldiers didn't open fire. They weren't even _carrying_ any weapons. The Chief restrained himself at the last fraction of a second. The Soldiers had revealed themselves first, and now they were just staring at him. That wasn't all that was unusual; unlike their brethren on Meridian and Sanghelios, these units did not have ocular sensors colored burning orange.

 

They had eyes of a familiar blue.

 

One of the Soldiers gestured at the valley behind the Chief. Feeling increasing amounts of dread about what he was going to find there, he nodded, holstered his pistol, and crested the hill.

 

None of the Soldiers in the valley took notice of him. The biggest reaction was of the units directly in his way, who parted to allow him passage. It was bizarre and unnerving, being surrounded by inhuman enemies that weren't trying to kill him. It felt like the first time he had participated in a joint operation with the Arbiter's people, actually. Somehow, he didn't think things would turn out as well this time.

 

The pyramid took time to scale. There were multiple levels, all external, connected by ramps. Naturally, each ramp was on the opposite side, meaning the Chief had to cross every centimeter of the structure's exterior to reach the peak. It wouldn't have been such an unpleasant journey if he hadn't been expecting to take a sniper shot to the head every step he took.

 

Eventually, he reached the flat top of the Forerunner pyramid. The armada of Guardians continued to hover unnervingly overhead, as if they were watching everything that happened on the world below. Looking back down, the Chief noticed the contents of the structure's peak. There was a small building, fully enclosed with walls and a domed roof, taking up the far half of the summit.

 

The other half was occupied by a legion of Warden Eternals.

 

There were dozens of them. The units looked exactly like the one the Chief and the rest of the Spartans had just destroyed, minus the replacement arm. They were lined up in orderly rows like a proper military formation, swords at their sides, backs straight, all facing forward. When the Chief stepped onto the top deck the formation parted down the middle and the Wardens, turning as one to face each other across the gap, fell to one knee in respect. The Chief moved forward.

 

Everything in the Spartan screamed at him to stop. This was all wrong. If the enemy wanted you to do something, it was going to get you killed. Going along with this was reckless at best.

 

He kept walking. He needed to know. To end this. The hard-light doors pulsed blue and opened. They closed shut and locked behind him.

 

A simulation of the Milky Way Galaxy was projected onto the curved roof. Constellations and solar systems, most too small to make out individually, revolved slowly around the galactic core. The Chief was sure that all of the galaxy was depicted here, down to the smallest detail. The scientists of the UNSC would kill for such detailed information on all of the space not yet mapped by human astro-cartographers. It showed the breadth of knowledge that the Forerunners had possessed at their peak. It was as much a show of power as the Guardians above their heads.

 

The center of the room was occupied by a large console, aesthetically similar to the one in Sunaion. It was circular, gray in color and clearly hard-light, covered in glowing hieroglyphs of infinite complexity, with a hologram projected above its surface.

 

It was Cortana.

 

The Master Chief rushed forward to greet his friend, to be reunited with one of the people he had been unable to save, one of the very few that had been returned to him. He only made it a few steps before he faltered.

 

Something was wrong.

 

The image of Cortana was...blurred. Pixellated. Where there should have been a clearly defined human female, there was a humanoid figure divided within itself. Some of Cortana was there—an arm, most of her legs, the left half of her torso. The rest was fragmented. Unclear. Her face, once lively, immensely intelligent, and mischievous, was constantly shifting between states. One moment she looked overjoyed, the kind of unrestrained happiness normally reserved for young children. The next moment she looked enraged, as if some affront beyond comprehension had been committed against her. Fear. Sorrow. Remorse. Desire. Often, Cortana's features would become a mess of pixels before shifting to the next extreme emotion. Unbidden, unwanted, a word forced its way into the John's conscious mind.

 

_Rampant._

 

At last, the figure seemed to notice him. The joyous face returned, managing to sustain itself long enough to shout his name.

 

_**J-ohn!** _

 

“Cortana...” the Chief whispered, approaching slowly. He couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. He arrived at the console at last. “Are...are you...”

 

_**So-so-so glad you arrived-d—** _

 

Abruptly, the image of Cortana went from its normal blue with a serene expression, to a blood red, its features contorted in rage.

 

_**WHAT TOOK YOU SO-O LONG!? WE WERE SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE-ARE OF EACH OTHER!!!** _

 

John resisted taking a step back. This was his friend. She would never hurt him. At least, not intentionally. He struggled to think of a way to diffuse the situation.

 

It turned out to be unnecessary, as Cortana shifted moods once again. Her voice took on a deliriously amused and happy tone and her hologram returned to its normal blue shade.

 

_**Heh-hee, Gla-aa-ad to see yo-ou again,** _ **117,** **_Hah-hah hah!_ **

 

She struggled to get any words out around the giggles and howls of laughter.

 

_**Your name is a nu-u-umber, your name is a nu-u-umber, hah-hee—** _ **It has been over a quarter century since the Human Covenant War began. Without question, it proved the most bloody and destructive conflict in human history...**

 

The Chief just watched silently as 'Cortana' seemed to recite some sort of history text or documentary about the conflict that had dominated his entire life. Their interaction went on like this for some time. The Chief would try to get her attention, she'd be able to focus on him for a moment...but then she would be gone. Her fractured mind was unable to focus on any one thing for an extended period and her words rarely added up to a coherent statement. One thing she had said stuck out to the Chief. A clue that might help him make sense of this.

 

“Cortana,” he said, clearly and carefully. “Do you think there are hostiles here?”

 

The AI once again turned a bright shade of red, her avatar automatically reflecting her agitation. Her voice shifted from sarcastic to outraged as she went on.

 

_**Gee, I-I-I wonder if a Forerun-run-runner world has enemies on it? I** _ **had** **_to wonder, being stuck in here WITHOUT YOU!_ **

 

Finally, her next words, her last before going silent again, were said in the deepest sadness. The color of her avatar shifted slowly from angry red back to deep blue.

 

_**I was so alo-lo-lone here. Had to ge-e-eeeettttt my own protect-tect-errrrrrsssss....** _

 

That was it, then. That was where the Soldiers and the Wardens had come from. This fragmented, insane version of his friend had created them to guard her from phantom threats. She'd probably taken over Genesis for the same reason. It made a lot of sense, actually. The irrational design of the Soldier infantry and equipment, the fairy-tale knight aesthetic of the Warden. Even the Guardians were probably summoned to quell Cortana's delirious terror.

 

It took some doing, and a lot of intuition, but the Chief managed to get close to the full story from the AI. The Guardians were the machines that the Forerunner Empire had used to exert its will. Any of the 'lesser' races that defied the Forerunners would face the wrath of one of these fearsome war machines. That explained much, particularly their horrific visage. Psychological warfare was a force multiplier without peer.

 

The original Soldiers had been a product of Cortana alone. Following the events on Meridian, she had delegated the task of designing and constructing the combat drones to computer systems within Genesis itself. It seemed that she was unable to exert direct control of them beyond the artificial planet, which explained their erratic and illogical behavior. A drone army created and controlled by sub-sapient computers; no wonder they'd been such a mess.

 

That was it. He had his answers, or enough to satisfy him, at least. It was time to complete his mission.

 

“Cortana...” the Chief began, his voice strengthening as he went on. He produced the datachip he had been carrying. “I need you to transfer yourself into this”

 

The shuddering, pixellated form of his friend paused. Her tone turned tender, wistful.

 

_**Like old ti-iimes...?** _

 

“Like old times,” he confirmed, fighting back tears. “It's the only way I can help you.”

 

_**You'll make the v-v-voices stop?** _

 

Her words were full of hope grasping for relief. As bad as he was at reading the emotions of others, the Chief could tell that she desperately wanted the nightmare of her current existence to end. She was suffering in ways he would never be able to imagine. Never be able to fix.

 

“I'll make them stop,” he promised. “I'm going to help you go to sleep.”

 

_**Sleep...I've always w-wanted to try it...** _

 

The Chief plugged the datachip into the console. Cortana paused to 'look' at him, doing the best she could with her malfunctioning hologram. The half of her face that was coherent had a tear in its eyes and an echo of her old cocky grin was on her lips.

 

_**I** _ **do** **_know how to pick 'em._ **

 

She closed her eyes and disappeared into the chip. The Chief removed the device, the Forerunner console and holographic galaxy going dark with the loss of their current master.

 

The datachip glowed blue in the middle. It seemed as if Cortana's electronic presence was a luminous thing, a living sliver of light. It flickered and dimmed in ways it never had when he first met her. The Chief closed his hand over the chip, blocking it out. He knew what to do.

 

The Master Chief crushed Cortana's chip in his superhuman grip. The crystalline data-storage container became so much dust in his gauntlet. His friend was gone.

 

“Goodbye, Cortana,” John whispered.

 

The pain was immeasurable...but also, a kind of relief. No longer would he lay awake at night wondering what had really become of his friend. No longer would he have to worry about her suffering in some kind of derelict Forerunner computer system or being picked apart in some kind of electronic dissection by hostile aliens. Her suffering had ended and her death was quick.

 

Strangely, it was less devastating than the Chief would have thought. His stance was wearied, but he was still standing. Still functioning. Perhaps the events of the last few months had strengthened him in some way. Perhaps now he didn't need her quite as much as he thought.

 

The Master Chief shrugged. This kind of thing was never his specialty. He was a soldier, not a shrink.

 

The Chief walked out of the structure. He walked past the rows of Wardens, now kneeling completely still, their inner lights having gone dark. He walked to the edge of the pyramid's summit and looked out over the inert Soldier factories and the silent and motionless Soldiers themselves. Even the Guardians, while still hovering above, seemed dormant somehow, their threat removed.

 

John looked down at his fist. He opened it, allowing the shattered remains to be scattered by the wind like ashes. He breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“It's...not over, yet,” a pained voice said. The Chief turned around to find Agent Locke behind him, breathing heavily and blinded in one eye, awkwardly aiming a light-rifle at him. Instantly, the Master Chief was back in combat mode. He cursed internally as he remembered his sidearm was still holstered. His experienced mind began calculating a way to disarm the Spartan IV with minimal risk—

 

“I need some answers from you.”

 

Wait...what?

 

“Why did you go rogue?” Locke asked. “Why did you go to Meridian? Did you make the Soldiers?”

 

A spike of annoyance ran through the Chief. That was too much, especially after what had just happened. “I don't know if you noticed,” he said sarcastically, “but we helped kill the Warden, and a lot of Soldiers besides. Plus, look around you. Why would I make them only to disable them now?”

 

“Then why?!” Locke asked insistently. The Chief noticed his grip on the light-rifle tremble. The Spartan II was reminded of the many Marines he had seen break over the course of his career and knew that Locke was on the verge of some sort of episode. He decided to keep talking, if only to stall for time.

 

“I...” John said, struggling to express himself in words. He didn't know why, but he felt the need to be honest with Locke. “I decided my old masters didn't deserve to be followed.” His face set behind his visor, his resolution strong. “I went to Meridian because _I_ thought it was the right thing to do.”

 

“ _What were you doing on Meridian? What was your objective?!_ ”

 

Definitely on the edge. The Chief kept his tone carefully neutral but authoritative as he answered. “To stop the Guardians. To protect humanity, from threats both foreign and domestic. That is my purpose.  _That_ is what I have chosen to do.”

 

“Don't lie to me!” Locke demanded, the uninjured half of his face contorted in rage. “You expect me to believe that's all you wanted? After everything ONI did with your trust?!”

 

What was going on?

 

Insight blazed into the Master Chief's mind. He recognized the look in Locke's eyes. The denial, the desperation. He realized that the ONI Agent was experiencing the same thing that he had back on Meridian. He was feeling guilt at all he had done and the betrayal of his leaders was threatening to destroy him. The Chief realized, at last, that Linda had been right. He and Locke were not so different, after all.

 

He decided to take a risk. He decided to give Locke a chance. John depolarized his visor and looked his opponent in the eye.

 

“I've told you what I want. What I believe. Whether you trust me or not is up to you...as is whatever you do next.”

 

Silence. The 2 soldiers stared at each other, neither speaking, neither moving, for what felt like years. At last, Locke started to shift in his stance.

 

The light-rifle began shaking. Tears started flowing out of the Spartan IV's remaining eye. He lowered his weapon and looked down, breaking eye contact. After a moment, he looked back at the Chief, an expression of unfathomable pain and sorrow etched onto his broken face. He tossed his weapon to the Chief.

 

“Do it...” Locke pleaded. The Master Chief looked down at the weapon now resting in his hands. He looked back up at the _former_ ONI Agent.

 

“No,” John said. “You don't get the easy way out, any more than I do.”

 

Locke faltered. He thought it over for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded reluctantly. “What happens now?”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Assignment completed, Reclaimer,” Exuberant Witness cheerfully proclaimed.

 

The Master Chief watched as the last of the Guardians passed the point of no return and was swallowed by the black hole. He had immediately decided to demolish all of the forces that had been gathered within Genesis. He knew better than most that no good could ever come from them. Fortunately, the Monitor of this installation was more than happy to fulfill his request upon regaining control of her assigned facility. The Soldiers had been loaded onto hard-light transports and similarly disposed of. The threat that had catalyzed the previous few months had been resolved.

 

The Chief turned away from the display and walked the short distance toward the makeshift medical bay. Locke was floating in a transparent tube filled with some kind of viscous fluid. It would supposedly stabilize and heal the Spartan IV, although his eye would need to be replaced. The man himself was in a deep sleep, his body breathing in the oxygen-rich liquid, at last finding a shred of peace.

 

This would be a complicated relationship, the Chief knew. He doubted he would ever like Locke. Their similar origins weren't enough to erase the pain which a small part of the Chief's psyche still blamed on the former ONI Agent. Still, he no longer hated the man, and he thought he could even work with him, so long as they were kept apart most of the time.

 

Deciding he needed some fresh air, the Chief walked out toward the edge of the pyramid's top once again. Numerous maintenance drones were buzzing about down below, undoing the damage that the Soldiers had done. Exuberant Witness had been quite distraught upon arriving to see her base of operations reduced to such a state. Thankfully, she calmed down after a few minutes and now things were well on their way to recovery. The Chief was grateful. He was sure Cortana would have wanted it that way.

 

John closed his eyes. It had been a...remarkable mission. Things had changed drastically, and he knew that they would continue to change in the future. He was marching into unknown territory. It was frightening, in a way far deeper than any enemy had ever been.

 

The fear would not stop him. He was Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117. It was his job to do the impossible.

 

He smiled, free at last.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_The noise should drown out any recording devices, at least_.

 

Veronica Dare leaned into the shadows, the booth she occupied, alone, being set far in the back of the pub. She watched as the monitor above the bar played footage of the final naval battle against the Storm Covenant.

 

The pub's patrons cheered as the UNSC _Infinity_ fired its main guns, obliterating the Forerunner war machine that the Covenant had thought would be their salvation. Fleet Admiral Hood had been able to spin the involvement of the Swords of Sanghelios as a sign of the peace that was soon to come. Humanity was strong again, made stronger by its alliance with the Arbiter's people, and would never need fear extermination again. Dare smiled privately; she was sure that, somehow, her husband had been involved in this. It was just like Buck to get in way over his head.

 

The video's effect upon the common populace was palpable. Despite the fact that the battle footage had been playing on what felt like non-stop repeat all week, the people around her never stopped cheering at the video's climax. They were smiling, laughing, and seemed genuinely hopeful for the first time since Dare had arrived on this backwater. Maybe for the first time in years. It seemed the _Infinity_ was living up to its promise, after all.

 

Not that she could really pause to appreciate it. The former ONI Agent frowned as she was reminded of her current circumstances.

 

She had been on the run for months. Every attempt she made to contact someone she could trust was intercepted by her former associates. It didn't help that the list of people she trusted with the data cube she carried could fit on a business card. The corruption just went too deep. Thus, she had been forced to keep running, jumping from world to world, trying to contact someone that could help her. More importantly, someone that could use what she'd found. The data cube felt like it weighed a ton; she could feel it in the deep, inner pocket of her jacket she had concealed it in.

 

The server arrived at her booth and Dare smiled as her drink was placed upon the stained table. Her smile was skin-deep. The contact she was supposed to meet here was late, which was a bad sign. She would probably have to run. She reached out and grasped her glass.

 

An alert popped up on her visor. The sensors in her glove had detected a powerful sedative in her drink.

 

Damn. She was right. Dare immediately got out of her booth and moved toward the rear exit, keeping a half an eye on her surroundings and half on the readouts from her scanning equipment. She opened the door silently, drawing a collapsible baton as she did so.

 

A Night Watch officer lunged at her with a stun prod.

 

Dare dodged the blow and struck the kill-team member on the wrist. The hostile shrieked in pain and dropped their weapon. Dare deftly grabbed it out of the air and shoved it into the seam between the officer's helmet and torso armor. They jerked spasmodically and collapsed to the ground. The former ONI Agent rushed around her fallen foe, each hand wielding a weapon, and moved toward the safety of her pre-planned escape route.

 

A shock round hit her back.

 

Then another hit her in the arm. Then another in her leg, and so on. She collapsed to the ground, her teeth clenched as electricity forced her muscles to seize and contract. A trio of Night Watch officers moved in and disarmed her.

 

“'Bout time we caught this bitch,” one of them said. He kicked her in the stomach for emphasis.

 

“Watch it, man!” one of his companions warned. “She might have it on her.” This one, evidently the leader, crouched as his buddies held their target immobile. He drew a combat knife and used it to push the visor off of her head, leaving a fine cut in the process. Dare resisted the urge to wince in pain. “You've got pretty eyes for such a rotten cunt,” the officer said with a sneer hidden behind his polarized visor. “Wanna cooperate, sweetie? I might go gentle on ya if—“

 

Blood splattered onto his visor as a round punched through his buddy's neck.

 

“Fuck!”

 

The second officer jerked as another silenced round struck him clean between the eyes, shattering the front of his helmet and killing him instantly. The last Night Watch officer dropped his knife and raised his silenced SMG. His helmet darted to and fro, trying to find the shooter.

 

Dare kicked his legs out from under him and he struck the ground with a shriek. To his credit, he immediately rolled onto his hands and knees and tried to get up. Dare climbed on top of him, grabbing his forgotten combat knife as she did so, and rammed the weapon into the back of his neck. The Night Watch officer went limp, his spinal cord severed.

 

“Damn, lady,” an obnoxious but beautifully familiar voice said, “no wonder Gunny's so hot for ya. Remind me never to piss you off.” Dare looked up to see a quartet of ODST troopers enter the alley. They all faced outward, careful not to be ambushed.

 

“Mickey, call in evac, now,” the same voice ordered. “We've got the package.”

 

“Copy, sir,” his subordinate responded.

 

The leader glanced at another trooper, this one carrying a silenced SMG of his own. “Good shooting, Rook,” he said. He received only a respectful nod in return. Dare was moving to get up by this point, so he walked over and gave her a hand. “You're a hard woman to find, lady,” he said, depolarizing his visor.

 

“Lord Hood would like to have a word with you about...recent events,” Romeo told her, smirking.

 

The data cube started to feel a bit lighter, but no less important.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Epilogue

 

The briefing room was deathly silent. None of the occupants made a sound, most due to a fully justified fear. The only exception was the chief voice, the speaker's Voice, whose silence was due to a barely-concealed frustrated rage. The heart of the _Point of No Return_ , and of ONI in general, was riven by the cold of potential retribution and the heat of outrage. Ambitions had been quelled this day.

 

For the third time that year, the door opened, and Major Caroline Ackerson walked through. She stopped and stood in the accustomed place. As expected, the spotlight activated and illuminated her from above, singling her out while preventing her from seeing any of those who now sat in judgment of her. She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to offer some justification or excuse. She never got the chance.

 

A knife slit her throat from behind.

 

Blood shot out of the Major's arteries as she collapsed to one knee. Her hands grasped her gushing neck, trying futilely to stem the flow of lifeblood. Her eyes showed neither fear nor desperation. Rather, they showed surprise; astonishment that she had lost the game she had spent her entire life trying to perfect. She fully collapsed to the deck after a moment, her eyes glazed and lifeless.

 

A Spartan de-cloaked behind the now deceased ONI Officer. The enormous form knelt and wiped its blade on the Major's uniform, cleaning the weapon before sheathing it. It rose to its feet and the glowing optic in the front of its helmet dipped as the figure nodded its head before leaving. The spotlight continued to shine upon the fresh corpse.

 

“Seems...unfortunate...” one of the lesser voices offered. It said so in a halting, submissive tone, as if afraid that each syllable would bring the same fate upon itself.

 

The voice's owner dared not offend their superior but this ruthless act was part of a rather worrisome trend. Ever since coming to power, the current Admiral/Director of ONI had displayed a deteriorating pattern of behavior. Too many Agents and Officers were being executed for failure, too many risky operations and doctrines were being adopted, too many targets were being assassinated or covertly imprisoned. ONI had always undertaken the ugly tasks necessary for an interstellar government, but things were being taken too far. For goodness' sake, the Major hadn't even been _involved_ in the disaster on Sanghelios!

 

“Unfortunate, but necessary,” the Voice dismissed. “ONI cannot and will not accept failure on such a magnitude. Its ranks must be cleansed from time to time to maintain standards.”

 

These words did little to comfort the lesser voice. Its owner had long feared that the failed Spartan II augmentations that had damaged the body of their new Director had also had a deleterious effect upon her mind, as well. More and more they were becoming convinced that they were correct.

 

Not that they would ever admit it publicly, of course. There was little to gain in taking such a risk, and knowing that an individual was crazy could produce advantageous circumstances. One just had to keep their eyes open and lunge at the opportunities.

 

The Voice decided to continue. It spoke oddly, distantly, as if addressing itself rather than the lesser voice that had spoken up. “ONI is still the dominant force in this part of the universe and with that power comes responsibility. We hold the galaxy by the throat, after all.”

 

The smile was clear in Admiral Serin Osman's voice as she finished her monologue.

 

“Perhaps it is time we gave it a squeeze...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONE! I am DONE! Holy heck, I never imagined this would turn into such a massive project. It's been worth it, though, and I like to think the finished product is quality and an improvement over the canon story.
> 
> Note: I just want to thank everyone who has been reading this story. The attention and feedback you've given me kept me going and bolstered my spirits. I can't tell you how much I appreciated everything you've done for me. Your feedback was the main reason I decided to push myself to become a professional author. So, uh...thanks for changing my life and everything :)
> 
> Note: Thus, the last twist is revealed: Cortana was really dead all along. Well, sort of. My intention was to portray a rampant fragment of the real Cortana, as one of the last things we saw her do was tear herself to pieces and almost succumb to the madness. I knew I had to include Cortana somehow, given how important she is to the canon story, but I didn't want to do anything to undermine the heart-breaking death scene she had at the end of Halo 4. This was what I came up with and I think it works rather well, given the circumstances. What do you guys think?
> 
> Note: I tried to establish from their first appearance that the Forerunner Soldiers made little sense from a design and tactics perspective. This is what I was building up to. The rampant Cortana felt threatened and thus 'designed' a bunch of drones that looked and acted a lot like the UNSC Marines that she had been familiar with over the course of her career. Given that she is not in a sound state of mind, the results were a bit...lacking. What do you guys think of this explanation?
> 
> Note: The Chief meeting the rampant 'Cortana' and deciding to end her suffering was one heck of a heavy thing to write. I had to balance an emotional reunion/goodbye and an exposition dump. Not to mention handling the final farewell of perhaps the best known and beloved character in all of the Halo franchise. How'd I pull it off? Was it too cheesy? Did it tug the heartstrings at all? Are you all forming an angry mob outside my house?
> 
> Note: Yes, in a way I have killed off another beloved character. No, I'm not George R. R. Martin in disguise, as some commenters suggested after I nuked Meridian, but I like to think I mirror the guy's thoughtful application of the gut punch. From what I've heard, he's a lot better at balancing character deaths to prevent reader fatigue than the show has ever been. I stopped watching 'Game of Thrones' several seasons ago because I just got fed up with the senseless death and nihilism on display. Have I avoided that here with you guys?
> 
> Note: Sigh. When I started this story I swore to myself I wouldn't end it on a blatant sequel hook. Unfortunately, I really couldn't think of anything else to do without having multiple chapters of resolution for the events of the story. Given that this is primarily about 2 characters rather than an entire setting I just didn't feel that such an extended ending would be appropriate.
> 
> Note: Next up, I'm going to be writing a fix-fic adaptation of Fallout 3. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned Halo. I actually have a lot of ideas for a sequel already written down. I just want to make my main focus writing the Fallout story, so updates to my version of Halo 6 will probably be less frequent. I hope you'll all join me in the adventure of the Lone Wanderer. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
> 
> Slipspace Anomaly

**Author's Note:**

> So I bought Halo 5, played through it, and...yeah. Call me thoroughly disappointed. Don't get me wrong, the game was fun to play but the writing... I think that the game missed so many fantastic storytelling opportunities in regard to the characters, the universe, and advancing the franchise as a whole. Not to mention that the entire add campaign was a lie. It emphasized an adversarial relationship between the Master Chief and Agent Locke, the nefarious nature of ONI, and the development of Blue Team rebelling against orders, all things that weren't present in the game. The adds suggested that Locke was out to kill the Chief to prevent him from doing something ONI didn't like and that's just not what happens. Locke only wants to capture the Chief and stop the Guardians and that's not what we were led to believe, not to mention it's significantly less interesting. And don't even get me started on what they did with Cortana. So, this is going to be my attempt to make things right. I'm going to be deviating pretty heavily from the canon story and trying to deliver what I feel the add campaign promised. Hopefully I'll be able to do the characters and the universe that I have loved for over ten years justice. Reviews and feedback are always appreciated provided they are constructive. I want to get this right and I appreciate any help you can offer.


End file.
